


In Between

by thisisapaige



Series: Empty Spaces In Between The Lines [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Again, Alcohol, Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Cas in recovery, Contiunation of Empty Spaces, Dean POV, Dean needs a freaking drink, Dean swears a lot, Dean's working on it, Getting Back Together, Hope, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, No Beta, Past Drug Addiction, Referenced Drug Relaspe, Sam POV, Sam doesn't know, Season 2, Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 32,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: The United States was a humongous place. Dean would know, with how many times he’d driven across the damn place. So of course his brother picks the one psychic in the entire country that apparently houses a guy who makes a pretty impressive case about being a former angel. Who also happened to be the first male shaped person he slept with. Who also started to bring forth a whole lot of complicated stuff he pretended he didn't notice anymore.Shit.~~~A continuation of 'Empty Spaces.' Sam insists on reaching out to a psychic to better understand his emerging powers. Dean reconnects with his ex-something. Set at the end of Season 2.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part two! Oh, wow. Thank you for coming this far! Glad I didn't scare you off. Thank you!
> 
> This is a continuation of 'Empty Spaces.' This won't make a whole lot of sense without reading that first. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

The air surrounded him, charged with electricity and heavy with the promise of rain. He sat outside anyway, stubbornly waiting for his brother to return. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, when the wind blew past him and he took a deep breath, he could smell _him._

Dean closed his eyes and could almost feel him sitting on the other side of the bench, as if he had just stepped away not a moment ago. Nearly two years later and Dean still thought about him, remembering blue eyes, disheveled hair, and skilled hands. Every time he indulged himself with those memories, Dean would inevitably drift back to that final image of him, naked and asleep in a dingy motel room, as Dean creeped out the door.

Dad called. It seemed important at the time.

Now though, Dad was dead and the only thing his obedience earned was a few haunting words and a pit of worry where his heart used to live.

Dean sighed and buried his face in his hands. Pathetic, really, to think so much about a guy he only knew over the course of one summer. Dean remembered how much flack Dad gave him about Cassie. He didn’t even want to think how he would react over a guy.

Sam had been too damn quiet after Madison, leaving Dean to stew in his own juices for way too long. The whole situation really got to him. It made him think.

God, he missed Cas.

Dean hoped he was still alive out there. Stayed clean. Stayed safe. Found someone better than Dean to take care of him.

Cas mentioned once that he heard prayers. Dean wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he looked at the sky and hoped.


	2. Chapter 2

The house didn’t look like much when they drove up to it. It was a two storey building that would have been nice about thirty years ago. The only indication of the business was the pink neon sign in the front window.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Dean said.

Sam held up a stack of papers. “I did a bunch of research. It seems like this Mercy person is the real deal.”

“Yeah but a _psychic?_ Do you really think it’s a good idea to--”

“Dean, I know you don’t like it but I have to understand this… this _thing_ that is happening to me. Then maybe I can…” Sam looked down at his lap, his face looking like Dean had just kicked his puppy.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Sam and Dean stepped up to the entryway. Dean raised his eyebrows at the sign “Mercy Macay: Psychic Specialist,” shaking his head at Sam. Sam sighed and, after squaring his shoulders, knocked on the door.

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then another minute. Sam shuffled from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together. He knocked again.

“Maybe no one’s home,” Dean said.

Just as Sam raised his hand to knock one more time, the door opened, just a sliver so whoever was behind it could look out.

“What?” The person’s voice was deep and groggy.

“Oh. Are you Mercy?” Sam asked, instantly slipping into earnest mode.

The person chuckled darkly. “No.”

“Oh, well. Could I speak to them?

“She’s busy.”

“Can I leave a message?”

“Why?”

Sam glanced at Dean, a plea in his eyes. With a long suffering sigh, Dean pushed his way in front of his brother. “You’re not much of a business man are you?”

Only a single blue eye and a curl of dark hair was visible through the door. The eye opened wider and stared at Dean. The voice was silent for so long Dean started to wonder if the other person was still awake.

“Ummm, dude? Everything okay there?”

The eye blinked. “Hold on.”

The door closed, followed by the sound of a chain lock being released, and it opened again. Standing in the doorway was one of the last people Dean had ever expected to see again.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. His eyes darted over Dean’s shoulder. “You must be Sam.”

Cas’s eyes returned to Dean, his head titling in the familiar way when he didn’t understand something. Dean couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t move. He just stood there like a idiot as he drank in the sight before him.

“You look good,” he said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

The corner of Cas’s mouth quirked up into a smile. It was true, though. Cas looked good. Last time Dean saw him, he was still skinny as a rake. He had filled out, probably because he actually remembered to eat sometimes. His arms were covered in an intriguing array of new tattoos and the old Led Zeppelin t-shirt and jeans he wore accentuated the quiet strength of his body. The pang in Dean’s heart felt almost physical when he realized the shirt was one that he had left for Cas.

Sam cleared his throat from behind Dean. Dean jumped, hoping he hadn’t spent too long staring.

“Right. Sam, this is Cas. Cas, Sam.”

Dean could feel the holes forming in the back of his head from Sam’s stare. He ignored it.

“I suppose you’re here for help,” Cas said, stepping back from the door. “Come in.”

The brothers followed Cas into the living room, the floors creaking underfoot. Cas indicated a couple of lumpy, floral patterned couches that have seen better days. They sat down and Cas disappeared behind a beaded curtain. Of course the psychic had a beaded curtain. There must be some kind of rule: psychics must have tacky neon and beaded curtains in order to be taken seriously.

Sam vibrated beside him. Cas was scarcely around the corner before he launched into questions.  

“You know that guy?”

“Yep.”

“Really? How?”

“I meet a lot of people, Sam.”

The stupid curtain had pink sequins. Pink must be this Mercy person’s favourite colour, which really made the psychic look so credible. The table in front of Dean was covered in a mismatch of occult objects and books with “Mystic” in the title. It was like a bad movie threw up all over the room. Hopefully the psychic would be hot, at least. 

Sam said something else. Dean replied with a noncommittal grunt, staring as the curtain sparkled in the breeze created by the fan in the corner. Sam’s voice faded out into the sound of Charlie Brown’s teacher. It did that surprisingly often. Okay, fine, the curtain was stupid but that wasn’t the problem. Obviously. A ugly ass curtain didn’t make his heart beat so hard against his chest.

Why _the fuck_ was Cas here?

The United States was a humongous place. Dean would know, with how many times he’d driven across the damn place. So of course his brother picks the one psychic in the entire country that apparently houses a guy who makes a pretty impressive case about being a former angel. Who also happened to be the first male shaped person he slept with. Who also started to bring forth a whole lot of complicated _stuff_ he pretended he didn't notice anymore.

 _Shit._         

Dean almost made up his mind to head to the nearest bar and never look back when Cas reappeared and beckoned Sam and Dean to follow him. It wasn’t a very big house. They stopped at the end of the hallway and Cas led them into a surprisingly normal looking office. The person known as Mercy removed her bright fringed cardigan to reveal her simple t-shirt and jeans, dropping it to join the pink and blonde streaked wig on the desk. She turned around, shaking free her long, grey-streaked hair.

“Hi,” she said, hoisting herself up to sit on the desk. She kicked her high heels off and smiled. “What can I do for ya?” 

Sam started talking again and Dean tried to focus on the words, he really did, but they faded into the background. Cas had disappeared into the shadows behind the world’s oldest office chair, squinting at the painting hanging over the boarded up fireplace. The piece was quite familiar, with its swirling greens and blues, though this one had more yellow. Dean used to have one just like it hidden under of of the Impala’s seats before it was destroyed in the crash along with… a lot of things. He tried to salvage it but even he had to admit it was too far gone. He figured it was for the best. He bought it on an insane whim and never had a real use for it. Losing the painting was like saying goodbye, for real this time.

Clearly Dean was wrong. Cas was here, in the flesh, fire in his eyes as he started down the painting as if he could scare it off the wall. He abstently ran his thumb over the crook of his arm over and over, but otherwise remained still. Dean took the opportunity to look at the swirls of black script wrapping around Cas’ arms. They were the same style as the ones on his chest and back Dean remembered. In fact, Dean was pretty sure he could write them from memory. Well, if he used his tongue at least. 

God, Sam was talking a lot. Dean really should pay attention, but instead he just noticed that Cas was still just as lazy about shaving as he was in the past and his hair was still a mess. Cas made it look good, though.

“What do you think, Cas?” Mercy twisted around to face him.

Cas’s eyes never left the painting. “I think you should burn it.”

Mercy rolled her eyes. “I like it. Deal with it, _Castiel._ ” She sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s fine, _Mercedes_ \--” Mercy made a disgusted noise-- “do as you wish. It’s your house.”

“That it is!” Mercy jumped off the desk and stretched out her hand to Sam. “Look forward to working with ya!”  When she turned to shake Dean’s hand, all he did was blink. “I’ll show you the rooms!”

Wait. _What?_

Apparently, Dean agreed to live with a psychic and his ex-something for the better part of a month. Yeah, what a great idea. Dean was ushered into a room about the size of a large closet with a bed and not much else. Sam got the room on the other end of the hall big enough for the desk.

Dean sat on the bed. It sagged under his weight. He stared at the wall for a few minutes, thoughts passing quickly through his head, too fast for him to really focus on one. Sitting was not helping. Drink? Drink.

He made it to the top if the stairs before he heard voices.

“Are you sure you're really okay with this?” The woman's voice belonged to Mercy.

Dean would recognise the low rumble of Cas's voice anywhere. “Yes. I promise I am fine.”

“Okay. If you're so sure. I can still kick them out anytime, you know.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Dean heard a sigh, then the sound of footsteps.

“Going out?” Mercy asked.

“Yes. I think I need too…” Cas never finished his sentence but Mercy made a sound like she understood. “I'll check in.”

“You better,” she said to the sound of the closing door.

Dean hesitated at the top of the stairs. Maybe it would be best to head back to the bed-closet.

“It’s not easy to hide for a psychic, Dean.”

Goddamn mind readers. Can’t get away with nothing.

“You got me,” Dean said when he came downstairs.

Mercy made a noncommittal noise, her arms crossed as her eyes stayed on the door. She turned toward Dean. “Okay. Dry policy. I can’t stop you from drinking but I can make you sleep it off outside. No drugs, either. I’m sure you can guess why.”

Dean nodded. Her house, her rules. He headed towards the door.

“Oh. Another rule. Specific to you.” The sharp tone in Mercy’s voice made Dean stand at attention. The look in her eyes reminded him a lot of Ellen, when she talking about Jo. “You may be a hell of a lot bigger than me and a better fighter but,” she paused and stared right at Dean, fire behind her eyes, “you hurt Cas again and I will _kick your ass._ ”

Yep, definitely a lot like Ellen. The terror was pretty similar, too.

“Yes ma’am,” he said as he headed out the door as fast as he could.

Well the good news (maybe the bad news, Dean couldn’t decide) was that Mercy already knew that he and Cas had a history. Dean hoped she didn’t know too much. He chose to believe so. The real problem, though, was what he would say to Sam.

He wasn’t out to anybody, not that it was any of their business, thank you very much. Hell, he was uncomfortable enough with _thinking_ the word bisexual, let alone actually saying it out loud. It shouldn’t bother him, he knew, but it did. Oh, it did. He ignored the attraction, pushed it down until it bubbled over with drink, manifesting in clumsy hands and drunken laughs in the back alley of bars, forgotten the next day. No, he wasn’t going to say anything about that. Not yet. Not ever. But he will need to come up with something to stave of the million questions Sam probably wrote in his notebook before he went to sleep. Whatever, tomorrow’s Dean could figure it out. Tonight’s Dean was going to get drunk.

The bar he found wasn’t much, but it had beer. That was enough. He sat in the corner and drank and drank and drank until his stupid head shut the fuck up for a bit.

He spent the night in the backseat of the Impala. Dry policy, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas came back about a week later with a new tattoo and a tired look in his eyes that silenced everyone as he walked into the kitchen. He dropped a wad of cash in front of Mercy before claiming the last bit of coffee. Mercy stared at the money, her eyebrows disappearing under her bangs.

Cas turned around, taking a sip of his scalding black coffee and said, “poker,” before walking out of the room with all the noise of a ghost.

Mercy blinked then stuffed the cash into her pocket. “Right, well. Lesson time?” 

Sam nodded and the two of them headed to the backyard to do… whatever. Dean didn’t really know what they did, though he was invited to observe anytime he wanted. To him, it looked like a bunch of staring and weird movements. Sometimes there was talk about chakras and new-age spiritual stuff that Dean couldn’t listen to with a straight face. He wasn’t exactly convinced they were doing anything but Sam seemed to feel his time was well spent, so Dean hadn’t packed everything into the Impala. Just most of it.

Though staying meant Dean had absolutely nothing to do, especially since he couldn’t drink in the house. So he spent most of his time coercing the ancient TV into working and watching bad daytime television. Sometimes he would pull something off the bookshelf, which were mostly psychic bulshit books or  _ terrible  _ romance novels that he did not read all the way through, especially not twice, and did not make him blush at all. Other times he paced, which led to thinking, which led to thoughts about dad and demons and a man with blue eyes. These days often led to him sleeping in the Impala.    


To put it simply: Dean was going insane.

Whatever. He wasn’t going to sit around today. He left his keys in his jacket upstairs, so of course when he rounded the corner he nearly smacked into a shirtless Cas, still damp from the shower.

Most people would probably apologize, shuffle past and go on with their day. Not Dean, though. Instead Dean made the mistake of looking up. Cas had a lot of new tattoos, the newest one on his forearm still covered in black plastic. They were the same style as his old ones, emphasizing the lines of his nicely filled out body as they curled around his his hips, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. 

Dean did all he could to keep his eyes from wandering further, so he kept his eyes on Cas’s face. He noticed how Cas’s hair was a little bit longer but still just as messy, looking just as if he just rolled out of a particularly enthusiastic session in bed. He wanted to run his fingers through Cas’s hair, try to tame the unruly strands before they dried straight up. Then he wanted to bring his hands lower, to trace the new lines on Cas’s chest, to touch the stories of the last years and to apologize for not being there.

“Hello,” Cas said, quiet.

Dean snapped to attention and sought out Cas’s eyes, but Cas refused to meet him, looking at something slightly to Dean’s left.

“Hey,” Dean said, clearing his throat when he heard his rough voice. 

“I hope the house is treating you well,” Cas said.

“Oh yeah. Peachy.”

Neither man moved but they didn’t say say anything either. A stray drop of water slid down the centre of Cas’s chest and Dean resisted the urge to reach out and catch it. He fought to keep his eyes from following the path of the droplet, instead focusing on Cas’s not-quite-a-beard. Dean smoothed down his own hair in an attempt to give his restless hands something to do.

“So, poker, huh?”

Cas actually smiled, though it seemed to deepen the dark circles under his eyes. It was still nice to see. “I remembered the basics, yes.”

Back when they hunted together, Dean learned that while Cas was skilled at pool, he was an awful hustler. However, Cas’s deadpan manner and giant brain turned out to be good at poker. Sometimes a little too good, since they got kicked out of one too many backroom games. Cas’s honest confusion the first time still made Dean laugh.

“Good,” Dean said. There was so much to be said, so many conversations Dean had imagined, but all he could do was repeat, “good.”

“I’m dripping,” Cas said almost as an apology. He turned towards the closed door of his room. He opened the door then looked back to Dean, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Dean, Mercy is a good person. I promise your brother will be safe within these walls.”

Dean sighed and weight he didn’t even know he had rolled off his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“I will make sure of it.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

For one brief second, Cas met Dean’s eyes. Despite all the time that had passed and everything Dean had done, Cas still looked at him like he was worth something. Cas shut the door behind him without a sound, leaving Dean alone. 

Dean entered his room, situated right in between his brother and his something. He lay on his bed, his previous plan abandoned. Instead he did the healthy thing and replayed his conversation with Cas, if it could be called that, over and over again in his mind. He fell asleep with visions of wet skin and tattooed wings in his mind. 


	4. Chapter 4

The tea, which had about nine different herbs, didn’t taste like anything. Mercy claimed it was good for him, so Sam drank it anyway. Sam leaned back into the porch swing, long legs pushing it back and forth. He was supposed to “meditate on the teachings” while Mercy dealt with a client, but, truth be told, he wasn’t so sure he learned anything. Not that he was going to tell Dean that, not after he finally got his brother to take him here.

Sam took another sip of his tea, burning his tongue. He’d keep trying. Dean said he’d save Sam, but neither of them knew from what he needed saving. Whatever his destiny was, it killed Dad. It killed Mom. He wasn’t going to let it kill Dean, too.

He jumped at the sound of the door closing, nearly spilling the last tea dregs in his lap.

“My apologies, " the man known as Castiel said, "Where's Mercy?”

“With some lady. Think she was a client.”

“Good,” said the man. He dug through his pockets before triumphantly producing a lighter. “Mind if I smoke?”

 _Yes,_ Sam thought before saying it was fine.

Castiel sat on the bottom step of the porch and took a long, satisfied drag from the cigarette. Sam stared at the back of the man’s head, trying to figure out what, exactly, it was about Castiel that made Dean act so cagy.

“I quit last week,” said Castiel with a puff of smoke, “so this is our little secret.”

“Um… okay?”

They grew silent. Sam shifted his weight, trying to keep the smoke smell away from him. This Castiel person looked like a regular man, with his long sleeve henley covering up most of his tattoos. The guy looked tired and maybe a little sad, but didn’t everyone?

Castiel cleared his throat, giving Sam a sardonic glare out of the corner of his eye. “Go on, ask.”

“Wouldn’t a psychic know you were smoking anyway?”

The man blinked, then looked at Sam with a tilted head. “Not the question I expected.” Castiel turned his body lengthwise across the step so he wouldn’t have to twist his back to look at Sam. “Mercy can’t read me. Well, not like she does to other people. It is part of the reason I ended up here.”

Sam leaned forward, the teacup still in his hands. “So you’re also psychic?”

“I don’t think so. At least, not in the way you mean.” Castiel took a long drag, blowing a cloud of smoke out his nose. “I’m a… ‘special case.’”

Sam didn’t know how to react to a guy who could use air quotes and sound so bitter at same time. He took another sip from his mug, earning him a mouthful of lukewarm tea leaves. Castiel waited patiently as Sam coughed up the worst of the taste.

“This is terrible,” Sam said, glaring at his empty mug.

“I know. It’s only your first week. It takes time to find something that works. Mercy tries everything at once to see what resonates with you.”

“Really?” Sam couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of his voice. “Did you find it?”

For a long moment Castiel became still. He looked like a statue, no fidgeting, nothing. Sam started to wonder if the question was too hard or too personal but then Castiel flicked the ash off the cigarette over the railing.

“I was… lost for a very long time,” Castiel said, “Maybe I still am. But this place has given me some peace. A place to clear my mind.” He looked Sam directly in the eye. Castiel didn’t look much older than Dean, but in that moment, he looked ancient, impossibly so. His eyes were filled with compassion and understanding and Sam had to look away before he felt overwhelmed. “I hope you can find something like that here.”

“I just don’t wanna hurt anyone.” Sam didn’t know why he was saying it out loud. He couldn’t talk about this kind of thing with his brother without getting shot down. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

“I know,” Castiel said, “and that matters.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I have too.”

Castiel turned away, presumably to watch the sunset. Sam didn’t know why until he rubbed his eyes. Oh, well that was embarrassing: crying in front of a guy he didn’t even really know. He felt a little light now, though, like saying his feelings out loud helped him pull out of his gloom. Maybe he was only able to say them because Castiel was a virtual stranger. Either way, it helped, even just a little bit, to know someone understood him.

“Hey, Castiel?” Sam called out after he composed himself.

“Please, just Cas.”

“Right. Um, how do you know my brother?”

Sam couldn’t really tell with Castiel’s back to him, but he thought he saw the man tense his shoulders. “There’s the question. How much has he told you?”

“Not much. Just that you hunted a bit. He kinda clammed up.”

Castiel nodded as if he expected that answer. He flicked away his finished cigarette and said, “Dean saved my life.”

“What?”

“He saved my life, so I followed him.” Castiel stood up and stepped onto the ground. “I think it best you hear the rest of the story from Dean, when he’s ready.”

Castiel didn’t wait for a reply. He walked away, only pausing for a moment to give the Impala a fond pat on the hood. His figure disappeared into the sun.  

Sam wasn’t alone long. Dean came out of the house, rubbing his eyes. His hair stood up on one side.

“Didn’t I hear someone?” Dean asked, his voice still thick with sleep. “Or you just talking to yourself now?”

While Sam wanted to make a snarky comment on sleeping the day away, Sam knew that Dean hadn’t been sleeping much, if at all, since-- since the hospital. So really, he decided to see it as a good thing.

Sam smiled. “I think I just figured something out.”

Dean blinked a few times, trying to clear away the sleep. “Oh yeah? Finally figuring out you’re a geek? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not new.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, slapping Dean on the back. “Want breakfast?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cas mentions a relapse. He got better.

The next couple days sucked, too. Dean did more of the same: pacing around the house until he was bored enough to try and sleep. Not that he could fall asleep. Tonight was one of the many nights he heard his father’s voice as soon as he turned off the light. He tried to tune it out, tossing and turning every few seconds, but he could stop the echoes of his father’s last words.

Dean walked through the silent halls on his way out of the house, nearly tripping over a crystal ball in the darkness. Seriously. A crystal ball. He stepped outside, at least that way he could leave behind the goddamn _crazy_ for a bit, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Cas sat on the bottom step of the porch, lit up by starlight and the embers of his cigarette. Dean almost turned back. He hadn’t seen Cas since they bumped into each other the first day he returned, though Dean knew Cas stayed in town. Whenever Dean entered a room, Cas had conveniently ‘just left.’ He knew Cas was avoiding him, not that Dean would blame him and Dean wasn’t about to force Cas to talk to him, not after what Dean did to him.

Dean didn’t turn back. Cas ran his hand through his hair, pulling so hard half of it stood up, then hunched over, hiding himself in a cloud of smoke. When Dean sat beside him, he saw three cigarette butts stomped out on the ground, and Cas never even looked up. Dean should have left him alone, whatever bothered Cas wasn’t going to be helped with Dean there to remind him of bad things.

Dean sat next to Cas, the narrow step forcing the sides of their bodies to line up, barely touching. It should have been cold, in the dead of night, even with summer fast approaching. With Cas’s heat beside him, Dean felt basked in sunshine. Cas shifted beside him, smoke escaping his nostrils as he sighed.

Cas was never good at sleeping. Some nights he would wake up and Cas would still be fully dressed at four in the morning. Other nights, Cas would have nightmares that forced Dean out of a deep sleep. Dean would wrap his arms around Cas and hold him until the terror left his eyes. Dean couldn’t remember Cas showing that kind of fear at any other time.   

“Can’t sleep?” Dean asked.

 _Do you still have the nightmares? Do you still dream in colours and shapes? How have you been? Why are you here? Does it hurt you when you look at me?_ He had no right to ask those questions. Maybe he had no right to be here at all.

“No. You either, I presume.”

“Nope.”

Cas nodded, then dropped his fourth cigarette on the pile. He fumbled around for a fifth, only to find the pack empty. He threw the box to the ground. It bounced once, twice and landed on the gravel driveway. Cas rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

The t-shirt Cas wore was another one of Dean’s, the material slightly baggy around his narrower hips. Dean wanted to reach out, feel the soft cotton under his palm as he rubbed away the tension in Cas’s shoulders. He didn’t though, it wasn’t his right to touch anymore, no matter how much he wanted to lean in and figure out if, under the heavy scent of cigarette smoke, Cas still smelled a little like a rainy day. Which would be a weird fucking thing to do but he couldn’t really help it when his brain got all poetic on him.

They had been apart longer than they had been together. Nothing had changed. Dean still felt the inexplicable pull between him and Cas, the one that made his body cry out with the need to touch. Everything had changed. Even though he sat right beside Cas, it was as if a gulf sat in between then, filled with thick water Dean couldn’t swim across. Cas was right there, but he could have been on another planet for how close he really was.

It didn’t stop Dean from wanting, though. He wanted to reach over and share in Cas’s warmth, to see if they fit together, too know if Cas would slide into him just like he had before or if they had changed too much, been apart too long, or Dean had fucked up too much. Dean didn’t reach over, but he wanted to; he longed for it.

“I’m right here, Dean,” Cas said, raising his head to look Dean in the eye. “I’m right here.”

Cas tilted his head and squinted, like he didn’t understand why he spoke. Dean held his gaze for as long as he could, letting Cas study him. Cas didn’t seem to find and answers. Neither did Dean.

“Are you okay, Cas? Like really okay?”

Cas didn’t reply for a long moment, his face betraying no emotion. Dean was used to that. Cas liked to think about his words carefully before he spoke and Dean gave him time to shift topics.

“I have bad days and I have better days,” Cas said, searching for another cigarette before he remembered he was out. “This is a bad day.”

“Bad how?”

Cas crossed his arms across his chest, his thumb rubbing over the crook of his elbow over and over again, just above his freshest tattoo. “Once an addict, always an addict. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Ouch. Who told you that?”

“A cop. He wasn’t wrong, though.” Cas paused, studying Dean before continuing. “He said that almost eleven month ago now. Haven’t touched anything hard since I walked out of that jail.” Cas shrugged one shoulder, hesitant in his next words. “I suppose some would call that stubborn.”

The math wasn’t hard to figure out. Cas had been sober when Dean left him. It was impossible to forget the nights he nursed Cas through his withdrawal. But that was almost two years ago, now.

“Cas…”

“No.”

“I--”

“No.” Cas lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I will not allow you to blame yourself for my decisions. Anything I put in my own vessel--body-- was done of my own free will.” Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder, flashing one of his half smiles that only come out of him when his feelings were genuine. “It’s what humans are famous for, after all.”

It was a sin. It had to be a sin to lean into Cas’s touch so eagerly when Dean didn’t even have the right to be next to him. “But I left.”

“You did.” Cas stated fact, but there was no accustion in his voice.

“And I shouldn’t have.”

“Correct.”

Cas still looked at him, his eyes free of anger.

“Shouldn’t--” Dean cleared his throat, knowing his confusion showed on his face. “Shouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Perhaps, but I’m not.” Cas pulled his hand away, but Dean could still feel his touch. He wondered if, had he rolled up his sleeve, he would see an imprint on his shoulder, raised in red. “You already carry so much sadness around you, Dean. I don’t need to add to your burden.”

Dean put his own hand on his shoulder, trying to rub the the warmth through the rest of his body. Cas always had the ability to look straight through Dean, past all the bravado and the jokes, to stare into Dean’s soul. At least, that’s what it felt like when he met blue eyes, like he did now. Dean let him look every time, expecting him to finally find something that would turn him away. Cas never did.

“How do you know that?”

“Why else would you be out here this early in the morning?”

The undignified snort Dean made must have been attractive as hell, but Cas look so satisfied with himself that Dean couldn’t stop it. They were silent for a while, the quiet night seeming to go on forever. It was one of those comfortable moments when neither person need to say a word, at ease with each other’s presence.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice was soft, as if he was afraid to disturb the peace.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Can we start over?”

“What do you mean?”

Cas turned his body to fully face Dean, his hand reaching out in invitation. “Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel.”

“Seriously?”

“Please.”

Dean could never say no to those eyes. He took Cas’s hand, his grip stronger and more sure than the first time they met. “Hey, Castiel. Nice to meet you.”

The sun started to peak over the horizon. Dean could have swore it happened the same time Cas smiled.

“Thank you,” Cas said, letting go of Dean’s hand. “I don’t know what the protocol is for people with our history but I’d like to try to be friends. If that’s okay?”

Cas looked so hopeful. Out of all the outcomes and conversions Dean had imagined between he and Cas (and there were many) he never expected Cas to reach out so carefully, like he thought Dean would reject him.

“Of course, Cas. Of course that’s okay.”

The sun started to turn gold and Cas glowed under the light. Dean had missed those eyes. He missed that smile. He missed all of it. If Cas only wanted friendship, then that was all Dean would take. It would be difficult in some ways, especially if Cas kept looking at him as he did now, but it would be easier in others. He could stay around Cas and ignore all those uncomfortable feelings about the fact that Cas was another man. Dean was a master at repression. He’d done it all his life. Yeah, he could be friends, even if the word sent a uneasy pang down his chest, as if it didn’t quite fit. Dean was used to that, too, whenever someone tired to label him.  

If friendship was all Cas wanted, then Dean could give him that. It was better than not having him at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Breakfast was a bit weird, mostly because Dean and Castiel managed to stay in the same room for longer than two seconds. They weren't talking, just sitting across from each other at Mercy’s kitchen table. Dean leaned back in his chair with hand wrapped around his coffee mug and Castiel slumped over on the other side, his mug almost as big as his head and nearly white with creamer. Dean’s soft smile belied the dark circles under his eyes as he watched Castiel's head drop lower and lower until it rest on the table.

It was weird, but not uncomfortable. Sam sipped his flavorless tea and let the peaceful quiet of the morning calm his mind.

Dean grinned as Castiel’s hand started to slip, taking the mug with it. He reached over, catching it before it fell, causing Castiel to jerk up in bleary surprise.

“I think you might wanna keep that,” said Dean, “looks like you need it.”

Castiel grumbled a sound that could have been agreement, then sat up and sipped his coffee.

Something has changed. Sam just couldn't figure out what. Just yesterday, Dean couldn't even look Castiel in the eye and now he looked at the other man with such fondness that Sam felt like he intruded.

Dean remained tight lipped about how he met Castiel. Sam knew it was during the time he was still at Stanford, which Dean never wanted to talk about. All Dean said was he spent those years hunting and that Sam shouldn't worry about it.

Sam worried about it. There was a two year gap in his brother’s life Sam knew nothing about. While Sam never regretted leaving the life, he did regret leaving his brother. He wanted to know that Dean was okay, that Dean was safe, even while he was away. Dean always shut Sam down when he tired to talk about that time or tried to apologize, so Sam stayed quiet even as he burned with questions about what it was about Castiel that made his brother act so strange.

Castiel’s empty mug thumped against the wooden table, making Sam jump. “Dean, you know about vehicles, correct?”

“I mean, I did just rebuild my baby,” Dean said. “So, yeah, I guess.”

“Does that knowledge translate to motorcycles?”

“Uh, maybe?” Dean paused, then studied Castiel, his eyebrows high. “Dude. You have a motorcycle?”

Castiel ran his finger around the rim of his mug, his eyes focused on something far away. “It's like flying,” he said quietly, “but it stopped working a while ago.”

“Yeah, I'll check it out later.”

Castiel beamed at Dean. “Thank you.”

The chair legs scraped against the floor as Dean took his mug to the sink, his back to Sam and Castiel. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and cleared his throat before turning back around. “Not like I've done anything yet. What about you, geek? Off to do some voodoo or something?”

Sam rolled his eyes and, judging by the way Dean grinned, gave his brother exactly the kind of face he wanted. "I’m supposed to meet Mercy outside, actually.” Sam stood, dropping his own mug in the sink. “I'll think I'll do that now.”

Dean nodded as Sam walked away. Castiel's head met the table again, his eyes closed. Sam turned back to Dean, who shook his head to Sam’s question. Sam let Castiel sleep, but he didn't look too comfortable with his cheek pressed against unfinished wood. Sam went through the back door in the kitchen to continue his lessons.

When Sam closed the door, he had to push it with his shoulder to make sure it latched shut. Through the window he saw Dean shake his head and run both his hands through his hair before he grabbed the mug left on the table. There he stood, looking down at Castiel, rolling the mug between his hands.

Sam didn't know what it meant, but it meant something, that's for sure. Dean didn't want to talk about it, and Castiel told him he should respect Dean wishes. That didn't mean Sam couldn't observe.

He may not know what was going on, but he intended to find out.

***

“You have to clear your mind, Sam.”

Mercy said it like it was easy. It wasn't. Sam’s legs were folded under him, the damp grass underneath him seeping into his jeans. He tried. He tried the weird humming and the breathing and the counting and all that other stuff but it wasn't working. None of it was working.

There was just _too much_ to think about. He had lost too much, saw too much, tried to hold himself together too much. Sam took a deep breath and tried again, letting his thoughts tumble out on the exhale, but his mind was never clear. Without distractions he saw blood, fire, and bodies on the floor.

“How,” he said through clenched teeth, the word drawn out and more angry than he realized.

Mercy stayed quiet. When Sam opened his eyes, she looked at him with shining eyes.

“What was her name?” she asked, joining Sam on the grass.

Sam blinked a few times before he absorbed the true meaning behind the question. He must have hesitated too long because Mercy spoke.

“I’m sorry. I'm not trying to read you. But I keep seeing flashes of blonde hair.”

Even though time had passed, it never got any easier. Sam still saw her at night, sometimes, smiling at him with gentle eyes as she had in life. She glowed with kindness and love, pulling people into her orbit with the light in her eyes, just as she drew him in, pushing through his defenses and walls constructed over his childhood years where he learned to never let anyone close.

Sam broke his rule. He let her in and it got her killed. He would see her sometimes, but as soon as he leaned in to breathe the sweet scent of her favorite perfume, she was gone, consumed by flames. The only thing he could smell was smoke and ash.

“Jessica. She is-- she was Jessica.”

“Oh,” Mercy breathed, running a hand through grey- streaked hair. She met Sam’s eyes, tears sliding down her face. “You’re so-- I--” She wiped her face and took a shuddering breath. “Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to--” 

Strange, really. Sam hadn't really cried that much when he lost her; he never granted himself the luxury. Instead, he focused on his revenge and payback. It was, after all, one of the main reasons he was here. He would find that yellow son of a bitch and maybe, just maybe, the ghost of Jessica he carried around could finally stop following him. His mom could stop burning above his bed. His dad could stop dropping to the floor.

Sam could stop.

Sam waited, dry eyed, as Mercy collected herself.

“Sorry,” she said, “usually I can keep the empath stuff under control but, ah, guess I wasn't properly prepared.” She grinned despite her red nose. “Well, now that I accidentally looked into your secrets, wanna hear one of mine?”

Sam nodded, though what he really wanted to do was head upstairs and hide.

“My actual name is Mercedes Lopez. I think my parents thought the name sounded rich and American, you know.” She grinned, fully aware of the irony. “Anyway, they came from Mexico looking for a better life.” Mercy’s eyes softened as she looked into the past. “They were good people. A little disappointed they could only have a daughter but, hey, at least I had a chance at having sons.” Mercy laughed then, but there was no humor. “Except, you know, I'm gay. Which they found out in a very awkward way. So, after I got a my pants back on and my girlfriend out the window, my parents handed me a wad of money and told me to get out.”

“Ouch.”

“You're telling me. I was fresh outta high school and had no clue what I was doing. So, as soon as I turned eighteen I bought a cheap-ass falling apart house.” She made a grand gesture towards the building. “Been working as a crappy psychic ever since.”

“Crappy? But you're the real deal.”

“Which is exactly why I'm crappy. The whole empathy deal makes it kinda hard to charge people when they come to me for help. Hell, I was only able to keep the lights on this month 'cause of Cas.”  Despite her words, Mercy smiled. “But, you know, this is where I need to be. I may not have a grand destiny or anything but I can help people in my own way.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because now you're smiling.”

Huh. So he was. Mercy told her tale with such flair and humour he couldn't help but be drawn in.

Sam took a deep breath and released the tension in his shoulders. “Can we try again?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: another relapse mention

Cas dug out a blue motorcycle from the shed Dean thought was impossible to open. It was a blocky thing, the word Triumph plastered across the side, the paint peeling and the chrome tarnished. Dean guessed it was from the eighties: not exactly a collector's item but cool to anyone who appreciated old Americana. Give it a good shine and it would be a sight to behold.

Dean stepped onto the yellowing grass to run his hands over the worn leather seat. “Dude. Where did you get her?”

A slight flush coloured Cas’s cheeks and wow it was really nice to bring a little light to his eyes. “I found her in the shed, keys inside.” Cas handed Dean the keys. “But she stopped after the winter.”

Dean put the keys in the ignition, a few sad clicks emitted, but nothing more.

“Well, dude, looks like you got a dead battery. Did you ever start her over the winter?”

“No. Is that necessary?”

“Yeah. You gotta recharge the batteries or there's no power.”

“Oh. Is it broken?”

“Nothing we can't fix. I think I got a charger in the car, actually. And if that doesn't work we can always find a new battery.”

Cas ran his hand over the tank’s letters, long fingers slowly tracing the word. “Drained of power. But it can be recharged.” Cas chucked at a private joke Dean didn't understand. Cas still had a strange sense of humor. “Who knew?”

Cas’s hands continued it path down the vehicle's curves. He held his silence, leaning into Dean’s space. Dean let him. Cas never understood the concept of a personal bubble, not that Dean ever made the effort to push him back. He may have grumbled about it a few times, if only to keep up appearances, but there was no one around. Mercy’s house was in the middle of nowhere and Sam was busy elsewhere. Dean stayed still, letting Cas move closer until their shoulders pressed together.

Dean kept his eyes on the motorcycle, where Cas’s hand still pressed into the leather. Cas had removed the dressing over his newest tattoo. The black lines swirled over his arm, highlighting the strength hidden underneath. The newest one, however, was different. A burst of bright green filled the empty spaces in between the lines.

The colour stirred something within Dean. He'd only felt it once before, a couple years ago, when he saw a painting on the wall of a shitty art gallery.

And, just like then, Dean wanted to _touch._

“Steven!” 

The sharp, angry woman's voice caused both men to jump. Cas whipped around so fast Dean swore he'd been slapped on the ass. Dean didn't do it, honest. Dean let go of a long held held breath, allowing the release to move throughout his entire body before he turned around.

“Mrs Jones,” Cas said as he moved forward.

A white haired woman marched across the gravel driveway, rocks flying in her wake. She stopped before Cas, barely the same height as his chest, but she stood tall.

“You,” she spat, her face hardly an inch from Cas, “have done _nothing._ ”

While Cas remained where he stood Dean saw the stoop in his shoulders and how his chin drooped.

“I am not what you think I am,” Cas said, stepping back, “I'm sorry.”

“She's _dying,_ Steven. And they told me you can help me.”

“I--” Cas crossed his arms over his chest, his voice faltering. “I am sorry.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean may not fully understand what was happening but he wasn't going to let someone make Cas sound like that. He stood next to Cas. “Let's all chill out for a second here.”

The woman snapped her gaze into Dean and damn this may have been a bad idea. “Who the hell are you.”

Dean tried to come up with a retort to the non-question but he was saved by a shout behind him.

“Beverly!”

All three turned to see Mercy framed in the doorway.  She slammed the door with a force that shook the house.

“I told you,” Mercy said as she stomped down the porch steps, “you are not welcome here.”

The woman glared at Mercy, jutting out her chin. She then focused her wrath on Cas, her narrowed eyes emphasizing the frown lines that overtook her face. Without a last word, she gathered her cardigan around her shoulders and stalked off to her car, peeling onto the road with a flourish. Dean gave her a wave as she went onto the main road.

Cas stared down the car’s path, nodding at Mercy’s concerned questions and offering a tight smile at her hand on his shoulder. His arms stayed wrapped tight around his body.

Mercy let go of Cas. “Right. So. When you boys are ready, we have some news. We’ll be in the kitchen.” She walked away after one last glance at Cas.

Dean waited. He remained rooted to the spot as Cas slowly untangled himself, his arms returning to his sides. Dean wanted to reach out to him, but he wasn't sure his touch would be welcome with the tension that was still clear in his stance.

“So…” Dean started, waiting until Cas looked up to continue. “Why'd she call you Steven?”

“It's on my driver's license.”

And, jeeze, Dean had almost forgotten the day he made a whole host of IDs for Cas when he realized he planned to keep him around. He had spent way to long deciding on what picture to use.

“But,” Cas continued, the beginning of a smile on his lips, one of those rare ones that seemed to surprise him every time it appeared, “to my friends I'm just Cas.”

“Is angry Aunt May going to be a problem?”

Cas blinked and then, ah, there it was: the head tilt.

“Possibly,” he said looking back out towards the road. “It seems she believes I can preform miracles.”

There was no opportunity to reply as Cas was already at the door by the time Dean’s brain caught up. He waited at the entrance and Dean followed him inside.

Yeah. That could be trouble.

***

“I wasn't, like, _looking_ for it,” Sam said, pointing to the messy circle around the newspaper article laid out on the table, “but you gotta admit it's weird.”

“Cas, you need to see this,” Mercy said.

She grabbed the newspaper and shoved it at Cas as soon as he entered the room. Cas straightened the crumpled paper and sat down at the desk to read. His face didn't change but Dean could feel the tension in the room. Mercy stood over Cas’s shoulder, her hands nearly white where they grasped the table. Sam wore one of his patented puppy dog looks, tugging at the ends of his hippy inspired hair, waiting for someone to speak up.

And Dean? Dean stood in the shadow of the doorway, fighting the urge to break the silence with a joke. Luckily, he couldn't think of one, otherwise he probably would have five minutes ago.

“Sunset,” Cas said, “isn't that where--”

“Where I found you,” Mercy interrupted, the words coming out in a rush.

The name wasn't significant to Dean and, considering the look Sam passed his way, his brother didn't know either. Despite that, Cas and Mercy had a whole conversation with their eyebrows.

Dean approached the table, the heels of his boots echoing across the tile floor. Three sets of eyes followed his movement. Dean focused on Cas.

“Care to share with the class?”

Cas replaced the article page removed from the newspaper, smoothing it down with excessive care. “Sunset Asylum. Abandoned for years. Apparently, that's where Mercy found me.”

“Apparently?”

“I, ah, seemed to have lost the prior weeks.”

“Lost?” Sam asked, “how?”

Straightening his posture, Cas looked at Dean for a long moment before acknowledging Sam. “Heroin, mostly.”

Sam stayed stock still, in an attempt to hide his thoughts. Which, of course, told Dean Sam was surprised.

“Wow,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice bland, “you weren't kidding about the relapse.”

“Not your fault, Dean.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to notice the soft gaze that followed Cas’s words. He also decided to ignore the way Sam’s head bounced as he looked between Cas and Dean, as if he were watching a particularly confusing tennis match.

“Okay!” Mercy threw her hands in the air, slapping the table on the way down. “Can we get on topic now? This asylum was purged almost a year ago now. I even went back a few months ago to make sure. Nothing was there. I've been doing this gig for a long-ass time. I did not fuck up a simple spirit reading.”

“Well, I mean--” strange how an eight foot tall man could make himself look like a child as if on command “--two bodies in the last week. So there's _something_ there.”

“I know! Just-- why Sunset?” Mercy turned her back on the table, worrying the hem of her shirt.

“You think I'm being targeted.” Cas’s words froze Mercy on the spot.

“Well, yeah. I got a feeling.” She turned around, the lines on her forehead deep. “I'm usually right. Perks of the job, I guess.”

With how cold the room grew, Dean could have swore an arctic breeze tore through the house. Goosebumps covered Dean's arms and tried to smooth the hairs down before he pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

Dean pulled the article towards him and clapped his hands once. “Alright. What's the game plan?”


	8. Chapter 8

The two bodies were late teens, boyfriend and girlfriend out for cheap horror movie thrills. Everything about their deaths screamed angry spirit, with their hearts frozen in their chests and a stab wound in their sides. The article was sensationalist, blaming some conspiracy group for the deaths, which probably explained why it was hidden in the last few pages of the newspaper. Still, it gave good information, reporting more than the cops likely wanted, and the reaction of Mercy alone sprung the Winchesters into action.

They planned to leave in the morning since they needed make the long drive to the next town over. Which meant that Dean should have tried to sleep, but instead he was outside. He used the porch light to hook up the battery charger to Cas’s motorcycle, still sitting in the grass from the morning.

Turns out, Dean didn't have the charger in the car. He used to, but that was before the rebuild. The afternoon disappeared as Dean searched the hardware stores and garages. Three stops until he found it. Gotta love small towns.

Dean entered the dark house. Sam and Cas had long since returned to their rooms. Dean was ready to follow them, but as he headed towards the stairs he found Mercy. She sat on one of the visitor’s couches, a cup clasped in her hands as she stared forward.

It wasn't that Dean was _trying_ to avoid Mercy, it was just that the whole psychic thing freaked him out. He didn't want someone trapezing through his brain upending all the shit that he's tried to pack away over the years. And, well, it was just plain creepy. Dean was about to walk away before Mercy looked up.

“It's not like I _want_ to do it. It's just that you can be _so loud.”_

“Right. That makes it so much better.”

Mercy barked out a laugh. “Why do you think I live in the middle of nowhere?”

Dean turned towards the stairs, but his legs didn't carry him. He sighed, then sunk into the cushions on the other side of the couch. “So. Why’re you sitting in the dark?”

“Probably for a similar reason to why you spent the day fixing that bike.”

“Don't know what you're talking about,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck.

The mug clattered against the table, which probably explained why most of Mercy’s dishes were chipped, and Mercy sank back into her seat, mirroring Dean's posture. “So you're not concerned at all?”

“No.”

“Please. Even a non-psychic could tell you're lying.”

Okay, sure. There was, after all, a lot of stuff to worry about. Dean tried not to think about it too much. If he did that he’d be reminded of that deep dark pit that had taken residence in his gut ever since his father had left him with an impossible task. No, he left those thoughts alone until they swam up to the surface of his mind. Then he'd drown them once again with a few too many drinks. Hey, he never claimed to be good at coping.

“Yeah, well, I'm a liar by trade.”

“And yet, your soul still screams at me.”

Dean crossed his arms across his chest in an attempt to protect his thoughts. “That's not helping.”

He felt Mercy’s eyes on him. She waited a long time before she said, “I'm sorry. Truly.” She paused again before continuing, her voice gentle. “I'm not going to out you, if that's what you're worried about.”

If Dean had a drink in hand, he figured this would be the point he spit in out in a suitably dramatic fashion. He didn't have a drink. He was left with the sound of blood pulsing through his ears as he considered how to respond.

“Out me, huh?” He chuckled in an attempt to bring down his heart rate. It didn't work. “Am I--” Dean cleared his throat, trying to tone down his worry. “Am I that obvious?”

“Sam doesn't know, if that's what you're asking,” Mercy said. “For what it’s worth, I don't believe it would matter to him.”

Dean tried to hold himself together, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “You don't know that,” he said through clenched teeth.

Mercy stayed quiet for a long while as Dean collapsed around himself. She reached out, her hand placed lightly on his shoulder. She knew. Of course she knew. He was thinking it right now: angry shouts, disappointed eyes, and slammed doors.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I didn't mean to bring that up.”

Dean leaned back, making a conscious effort to detangle himself. “Well that was super fun.” He faced Mercy, forcing himself to look in her eyes. He tried not to see her understanding. “Let's talk about something else fun: what are you so worried about?”

“My role is coming to a close,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap. “I just hope I done enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Almost a year ago, I woke up to this… scream.” The knuckles of her hands turned white as her hands clenched. “And I had to follow it. It felt like I had been given an important mission.”

“By who?”

Mercy shook her head. “All I know is that I had to follow it. And I ended up at Sunset Asylum.”

“The place were going tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I had kept an eye on the spirits, but nothing happened there for years.” Mercy laced her fingers together, studying them carefully as she spoke. “When I got there, though, there was this wave of intense power. It blew out the windows of the building and those nearby. It was a power I've never felt before. All spirit activity ceased after that.”

Mercy looked up at Dean then, her eyes round and shining. Her lips quivered as she tried to continue.

“Do you know what it was?” Dean prompted.

“No.” Mercy said it too fast and she looked away.

“Now I'm not a psychic, but even I can tell something's up.”

“I think it was Cas,” she said. “You know what he was… or is?”

How could Dean forget? He remembered Cas in that church, the shadow wings framing his form as he buzzed with power. He tried not to think about it because when he did he felt like his head would explode. He couldn't comprehend how someone like that _,_ someone like Cas, could even give a person like Dean the time of day. Cas had given him a hell of a lot more than that. Dean threw it away. Dean walked away. He cleared his throat and flexed his hands, aching for something to hold: a bottle or... something else.

“So you're saying Cas did that?” Dean asked.

“I don't have a way to prove it.”

“But you have a feeling.”

“Yeah.” Mercy was silent for a long while. “I think I was guided there by something _divine._  Godlike. Me. A broke-ass psychic.”

“You’re not serious.” Mercy tapped her hand against her thigh and looked at Dean with fear in her eyes. “Damn.”

“A-anyway,” Mercy continued, “I went in and Cas was on the floor. He--” She leaned forward, grabbing the mug off the table with shaking hands and took a sip. “He was dead. He had to be. There was so much blood.”

“Dead?” Even though he saw Cas only a few hours ago, Dean felt compelled to check on him. “Are you sure?”

“No. Because when I leaned down to check on him, he opened his eyes.” Mercy smiled then. “He said 'hello.’”

“And he's been here ever since.”

“Well, he disappeared a few times. But he's always come back.” Mercy took another sip from the mug, wrinkling her nose. “But I think we're coming to the end of that.”

Dean leaned his head back until it rest on the top of the couch and closed his eyes. “This is making my head hurt.”

“You're telling me.” Mercy threw the mug back on the table. “We have a long drive tomorrow. Should probably sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Neither moved.


	9. Chapter 9

“Seriously. Who wears a trench coat on a fucking motorcycle?”

Dean heaved an exacerbated sigh, but there was a smile on his lips as he piloted the Impala down the highway behind Castiel.

Just before they left Mercy’s house, Dean pulled Castiel aside and turned on the old motorcycle. Castiel had had thanked him, taking off down the road with a loud roar. When he finally decided to join the rest of the group, Sam noticed the flush in Dean’s cheeks that hadn't quite cleared.

Sam didn't comment on Dean’s mood. Dean started the day with his head on the table but after that, that little smile hadn't left him. Sam figured it best not to look to close and let Dean keep it.

Sam had to admit that the trench coat looked weird as it flapped behind behind Castiel, fluttering like little wings.

“I don't know,” Sam said. “But at least he doesn't have to listen to your music.”

“Shut your cakehole,” Dean said. “My music is awesome.”

Sam grinned, then glanced into the backseat. “Or Mercy’s snoring.”

“I’ll give you that one.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel of the Impala, a light in his eyes Sam had missed. He knew his brother wasn't good at staying put but he hadn't realized just how much Dean needed to get out of the house. Sure, they might be heading towards of bunch of angry, killer ghosts but that suited Dean just fine. Sam leaned back into his seat and let Dean’s good mood wash over him. He had no idea no idea what waited for him in the next town over. There was a feeling of unease he felt since he read the newspaper article he couldn’t shake. Sam didn't bring it up, letting Dean be happy for a little bit.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam said, waiting for Dean to pay attention. “Thanks.”

Dean stared at Sam so long that Sam almost had to remind him to look at the road. “Um, what?”

“For letting me stick around with Mercy. I know you don't like staying still.”

“That's my job. Sitting around while my oversized little brother tries to channel his inner Earth Mother or whatever.”

“Yes. That is exactly what I do.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Ha! Always knew you were a hippy chick.” Dean grinned, clearly very proud of himself.

Leaning back into his seat, Sam shook his head. He’d let Dean get away with it this time, but he was so not going to cut his hair, no matter how many jokes his brother made.

***

They stopped at an off-brand burger joint attached to the gas station a few hours later. Mercy crammed herself against the wall on the inside of the booth with one of her many homemade teas, the furrow between her brows deeper every hour. Castiel picked at the extra fries he insisted on ordering. Dean eyed Castiel from over his burger, mouth too full to talk but not enough to conceal his disapproval over the waste of food.

Sam nudged Mercy with his shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

“Haven't been out for a while,” Mercy said, rubbing her forehead, “forgot how loud it can get.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.” Mercy smirked over the lip of her cup. “I will survive,” she sang.

“I'm just saying,” Dean said around his last bite of food, “why buy it if you didn't want it?”

Castiel shrugged. “Guess I'm not that hungry.” He gathered up the paper bags and stepped out of the booth.

“Dude, where’re you going?”

Castiel opened his coat, showing a carton of cigarettes in the inner pocket. When Dean turned back, he was met with twin stares.

“What? I earned that money!”

“Didn't you win it off a scratch off?” Sam asked.

“My point.”

Mercy laughed and dropped her cup on the table. “Anyway, if we're all finished. I gotta go to the ladies room, then stare disapprovingly at Cas’s smoking.”

As they walked out the door, Sam nearly slammed into Dean’s back. Sam pushed against Dean three times before he moved out of the way of the entrance, the couple behind them muttering as they squeezed past. After a few steps, Dean stopped dead in his tracks again, his attention focused on the burger joint’s patio.

Castiel sat with his back to the brothers, talking to the man across from him in a foreign language. The man’s long beard and matted hair overtook his face, a fry occasionally disappearing into the mass of hair from the paper bag pointed towards him. Despite the heat, the man wore a long coat and layers of shirts, all of it covered in dust and dirt. He eyed the brothers from his seat, pulling the bag closer to his chest, falling silent long enough that Castiel turned around.

After a few short words to his companion, Castiel walked towards Sam and Dean.

Before Castiel could say anything, Dean asked, “Why didn't you just say so?”

Dean’s question was so quiet, Sam thought Castiel’s answering silence meant he didn't hear it.

“Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them,” Castiel muttered, almost as if he had not intended to say it out loud.

“What's that mean?”

Castiel's smile was fond. “Don't worry about it. I know I preferred to not draw attention to myself.”

“Cas...”

“It was a long time ago, Dean.”

Sam felt like he was part of a movie in which he had never been given a script. Dean and Castiel stared at each other, lost in their own world once again. Sam fought the urge to wave his hand in front of their faces, just to see if they'd react.

Yeah, Castiel was _definitely_ a guy Dean only knew over the span of a hunt.

The two men were so focused on each other that Dean nearly pulled a gun and Castiel blinked twice when the homeless man appeared beside them. Sam probably should have warned them, but now he could make fun of Dean later.

“Your friends?” The man said, his accent thick and his English halting. He spoke a few more words in his own language. Now that Sam could hear him clearly, he identified it as Italian.

Castiel nodded, speaking rapidly in Italian with the confidence of someone who had been raised in Florence. “Sam, Dean, this is Giovanni.”

Giovanni bobbed up and down in an approximation of a bow. “Thank you,” he said to them before turning to Castiel. He grabbed one of Castiel's hands between two of his own, saying a few words that made Castiel shake his head. Giovanni emphatically nodded his head in response. “Bless you, bless you.”

“Oh. I, um--” Castiel pulled his hand back, crossing his arms, pulling them apart, then folding then again. “I don't need that.”

Giovanni smiled wide, the teeth he had left surprisingly white. He bobbed again before backing away, disappearing behind the building. The three men stared after him.

“Think he's gonna be okay?” Dean asked.

“I don't know,” Castiel said, pulling out a cigarette, “I suppose this is the time for faith.”

“Really? From you?’

“I am full of surprises.” Castiel walked away, a trail of smoke following behind him.

“You got that right,” Dean said to Castiel’s back.

Dean ran his hands through his hair then heaved a sigh. He turned around and jumped when he saw Sam, as if he had forgotten Sam was there. Hell, he probably had.

***

They made it into town with little incident, settling into the motel just after sunset. They agreed to start their investigation in the morning, Dean and Sam taking one room while Castiel and Mercy took another. Dean hadn't even complained about paying for two rooms. In fact, he had insisted even though Mercy tried to take out her wallet.

Sam sat at the room’s table, surrounded by yellow and orange wallpaper with swirled into headache inducing shapes. He tapped at his laptop, researching the Sunset Asylum. The story was typical for a twentieth century asylum: patients locked behind closed doors, forgotten and 'treated.’ It was closed down by city ordinance and the few patients left relocated with little issue.

Dean nearly wrenched the door out of the frame as he entered the room, hands filled with food bags and a six pack. He threw down a bag for Sam as he walked in. Huh. Dean had actually willingly brought him a salad.

“Anything interesting in the tubes?” Dean asked, cracking open his beer.

“It’s a pretty typical haunted asylum. Kinda boring, actually.”

Dean shrugged and took a swig of his drink, lying on his bed to watch television.

Sam surfed the Internet for a little longer, mindlessly flowing from an article about lobotomies to cats in hats. He wasn't really paying attention; he observed Dean. Dean dropped the empty can on the bedside table and leaned back, eyes half lidded. His brother looked relaxed enough, so Sam figured he would take the opportunity.

“Hey, Dean?”

The beer can rattled across the floor as Dean tried to sit up. He made an incoherent mumble that could have been acknowledgment. Sam took it as such.

“Why did Castiel say you saved his life?”

Dean choked on his second beer. “Uh… what?”

“I asked him how you knew each other and that's what he told me.”

Sam watched as Dean went completely blank, his eyes wide but betraying little. Sam started to regret the question and was about to stand up and shake Dean, to see if he was still functional.

“What else did he say?” Dean's voice was flat, which was a surefire indication that Dean was trying to hide something.

“Nothing. He said I should hear the story from you.”

“Oh, right.” Dean slumped, tension still in his body but nowhere near as much before Sam’s answer. Dean ran a hand through his hair and sat up. “I actually don't know. Didn't know he felt that way.”

“Really?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, who bristled under the scrutiny.

“Really,” Dean said.

This time, Sam believed him. Dean started at the television, his eyes glazed over.

Sam gave him a minute. “Dean?” It took a few tries before his brother looked at him with clear eyes. Sam gave him the time. “Why are you both being so cagy about this? Should I be worried?”

“What?” Dean jumped up, arms extended in a placating gesture. “it-- it was _before--”_ Dean didn't finish the sentence but Sam knew what he meant: before Stanford, before dad, before everything-- “Cas is a good guy, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. Every time Sam had spoken to Castiel, the man had never given him cause to suspect anything bad. In fact, he found himself spilling out his soul, which was a little strange but some people inspired that kind of trust. “But _something_ is going on.”

For a long moment, Sam’s words hung in the air. Dean deflated, then turned his back to Sam to look out the window. “Okay so, we hunted together for a little while longer then I implied. But then we didn't.”

“Why?”

“I left.”

“And?”

Dean crossed his arms and started towards the door. “And that's all your getting today. Time to be less sober. Don't wait up.” He didn't wait for a response before he was out of the room and halfway down the street.

Well, that was better than nothing, though now Sam had even more questions than answers. He tried to keep his mind blank, watching substance free television as he ate his dinner. It didn't work.


	10. Chapter 10

Stupid brother and his stupid questions. Of course he'd notice; it wasn't like Dean was doing a good job hiding his awkwardness. He knew that but he had hoped Sam wouldn't pick up on it. Stupid nerd was too smart for his own good and yet could be so dumb in other ways. Just Dean's luck Sam would choose to be smart over this.

Dean kept walking, planning to step into the first bar he saw. He was so focused on his goal that he nearly ran into the park bench.

“Dean?” Cas stared at him with wide, concerned eyes, his half finished cigarette between his lips.

Maybe he should have kept walking, but Dean sat beside Cas, joining him in the dark, empty park. “Can’t sleep?”

Cas shrugged. “Mercy snores. You either?”

“Brother keeps trying to have serious talks.”

“My condolences.”

They sat in silence, with only the sound of Cas breathing out smoke between them. It was relaxing to sit in comfortable quiet, even though Dean did have to wonder just how much lung Cas had left with his tobacco habit. Dean leaned back and breathed, trying to force the tension out of his shoulders. He glanced over at Cas, who looked up at the sky, probably tracing out the constellations he saw. Cas would tell Dean about it if he asked, but he also seemed content to sit in quiet contemplation. Dean always appreciated that trait. He closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean said, keeping his eyes closed.

“Yes?”

“Why did you tell Sam I saved your life?”

Cas was quiet for a while and Dean fought the urge to look in his direction. He could feel Cas's stare.

“Because you saved my life,” Cas said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the word. Dean looked at him then, watched as his eyes narrowed, then widened, his whole face softening as he studied Dean. “You don't think so? It's true."

Sure, Dean managed to keep the guy from overdosing once, using his vast repertoire of movie knowledge to do so. It was nothing short of a miracle it worked. He learned afterword that showers do little to wake people up when they're full of drugs. Hell, maybe he didn't do anything at all.

Dean spluttered out a few protests, but Cas put a finger to Dean’s lips, cutting off the protests. Cas smiled, taking away his hand almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You did,” Cas said.

Just like that, Cas sat back as comfortable before, as if he hadn't tilted Dean’s world on its axis with a few words.

Cas didn't mean that. He couldn't mean that. Dean hadn't earned it. Maybe Dean had done some good, but all of that meant nothing after he left. Judging by the little Cas had said about what happened after they went their separate ways, life got worse for him.

“I don't--” Dean put up his hand, to stop Cas from interrupting-- “I don't understand. I mean you said you relapsed that you--”

Cas growled (literally growled what the hell) before turning his whole body to face Dean, putting himself closer to Dean than he had ever been since their reunion. “And, as I told you, that was not your fault.” Cas sighed and leaned back, but the electricity in his eyes kept Dean spellbound. “You showed me kindness when I needed it most. You gave me the will to leave that town, to continue my mission, to help people along the way. What happened afterwards does not invalidate what you did.” There was a fire in Cas’s eyes that Dean hadn't seen in years. The kind of fire Cas showed during late nights, under the blankets, when he demonstrated his focus and conviction, his absolute certainty. “And I will _not_ allow you to invalidate what we had.”

It felt like Dean hadn't breathed during that whole speech. “I'd never-- I won't. I promise.”

Cas nodded and turned away, seemingly satisfied.

While it was easier to breathe, Dean missed Cas’s scrutiny. It warmed him all throughout his body, tingling with the memory of just how well Cas could apply that passion when he wanted to. Dean leaned back, the small space between their bodies leaving him cold.

“ _Had_ , huh?” Dean muttered, not meaning to speak aloud. For a split second, Dean thought he saw Cas stare at him from the corner of his eye, but Dean couldn't be sure in the low light.

Cas doused his finished cigarette into the ashtray beside the bench. “What happened to you, Dean?”

Cas didn't look at him. His tone was as casual as if he asked about the weather. The words still hit Dean with the impact of a well placed punch. “Cas?”

“You’re carrying around so much more guilt and sadness that I remember. I want to help but I fear I'm just making things worse.”

“What? Whoa! No, no! Don't think _that_ way.”

Fuck. Dean knew he wasn't dealing with Dad’s death well, no matter what he tried to tell everyone. Almost a year and he still woke up in a cold sweat, feeling that hollow space that wouldn't go away since he walked out of that hospital. He thought however, that the outward effect had dulled a little, at least enough to keep Sam from shooting him worried looks every five seconds. Sam was down to every five minutes now. Dean figured that was good progress.

Cas’s concern for Dean was clear. Cas shouldn't have to worry about him. Cas didn't owe Dean anything. Really, Cas should have refused to let Dean into Mercy’s house to start with then these awkward moments could have been avoided entirely. But _no,_ Cas had to still be a good guy and actually give a shit about Dean, asking him to be friends and staring at him with so much concern that Dean could feel his heart break.

“Then what is it?”

Dean took one look at Cas and then it all came pouring out. He told Cas everything that had happened in the past years: yellow eyes, revenge, his dad's final moments, his worry for Sam’s so-called 'destiny.’ Cas listened. He didn't interrupt. He listened. Dean poured out his soul to him and Cas looked on, not with pity, not even with sympathy, bit with understanding.

The silence that followed Dean confession nearly deafened him. Dean’s heart pulsed in his ears and he found it impossible to find his breath. He collapsed around himself, certain he was going the fall down through the ground and slip, unnoticed, into Hell.

Dean didn't fall. Cas caught him, wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and pulled him back up.

Friends did this, right? Friends buried their head into their friends’ shoulders and they held each other, right? A friend murmured quiet facts about the stars to his friend’s ear as he stroked his friend's hair. A friend would shamelessly press closer to their friend to feel his warmth and to find out that, yes, their friend did still smell like a rainy day under all that smoke.

Friends totally did that. Right?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Implied torture/forced drug use

The broken grass crunched under their boots as the group launched themselves over the fence to stand before Sunset Asylum. It was impressive that the building even stood, with its empty windows and creaking wood panels. It groaned under the weight of it own roof, even through half the shingles were missing.

“You know, fix up the windows, add a foosball table and a couple beer fridges, this place could be downright homey,” Dean said as he ignored the giant _do not enter_ sign.

“Yes. We could add a couple flower arrangements to 'brighten the place up,’ as they say.”

“Really, Cas? Who says that?”

“Mercy did after she got the…” Cas paused just long enough to make his point, “ _bead curtain.”_

“Hey now! I stand by that decision! Nothing says quack psychic quite like that beauty,” Mercy said.

“It is not 'a beauty.’”

Mercy laughed. “Trust me, I am well aware.”

“Guys? Possible ghost problem? May want to get to that,” Sam said as he worked his lockpick into the door.

“Pffft. I bet Sammy here loves that curtain.” Sam shot Dean a look that only caused Dean’s grin to widen.

“A pity,” Cas said, he and Mercy nodding in grave agreement.

Sam’s eyes were nearly stuck to the back of his skull, but he still managed to get them inside with little issue.

They were greeted by beer can city. Between the rusting fixtures and the afternoon sun glaring off more broken glass, the asylum made for a sad picture.

“Okay,” Sam said, looking expectedly at Mercy, “Where do we go from here?”

“Down,” Cas answered, forcing the other three to turn around to see him, framed in the light of the doorway. His eyes were closed. “The lowest point.”

Dean and Sam eyed Mercy.

“Umm, sure. Let's do that,” she said.

“You feel anything?” Sam asked.

“Well, no. But Cas has a good intuition.”

Cas scoffed and made a beeline for the next room. The rest of the group jogged to catch up to him. They found him in an empty room, maybe once used as an office, standing as still as a statue in the middle of a rust coloured circle on the floor.

Dean had, unfortunately, seen more than enough crime scenes to recognize the attempt to clean the blood off the floor. The cleaner had made some progress but the blood seeped into the concrete, staining it. No way in hell did the circle form naturally. It was too perfect in its shape, encompassing the room in complete symmetry.

Cas waited a few moments before he acknowledged the others, his eyes focused on Mercy. “You never told me it was this bad.”

His words were quiet and calm, as they usually were, but Dean heard the anger underneath. Judging by the way Mercy squirmed, so did she.

“You were in pretty bad shape, Cas. You know with the whole being stabbed and getting arrested thing.”

“ _Stabbed?_ ”

Cas gave Dean a sympathetic look, but otherwise ignored him. Cas sighed and walked the perimeter of the circle, his careful steps never leaving the red. He stopped in front of a doorway and closed his eyes, his head tilted as if he were trying to hear a faraway noise.

“I need to go down,” Cas said.

Mercy and Sam nodded at each other and entered the next room in search of a stairwell. Cas remained still as they passed him. Dean waited. Dean waited a little bit more. Cas made no indication he planned to move anytime soon.

“Hey,” Dean said, clasping Cas on the shoulder. “You okay?”

Cas opened his eyes enough to squint at Dean. “No.”  Dean had to take of step back at the force behind the word. Cas grumbled, running both his hands through his hair until it stood up, making him look, just a little bit, like the Cas Dean had met at a awful art gallery. “I'm sorry. This building is _singing._ ”

“Singing?”

Cas met Dean’s eyes, just for a moment, but it was enough.

Cas was scared.

“Wait. Do you think it has to do with ang-- your family?”

Cas nodded once. “I hope not. But this is what it feels like.” Cas shuffled from foot to foot, glancing over at Dean. “Perhaps I should not have brought you here.”

“Ha!” Dean said, slapping Cas in the back and making his tone loud and jovial. “I'd like to see you try and leave us behind.”

The smile on Cas’s lips was gone almost as soon as he saw it, but Dean was glad to see it. “Thank you,” Cas said. He smiled softly, this time it stayed a little longer. “I'm glad you're here.”

Dean didn't know how to react to Cas’s sincerity. Actually, he did. He wanted to grab ahold of the stupid coat and push Cas into the wall and kiss away the fear he saw in his eyes, ghost hijinks be damned. Dean stood still, his eyes locked with Cas, and raised his hands.

“Guys!” Sam’s yell made both of them jump and face the door. “We found a way down.”

Oh. Well. That was good. Maybe.

***

The lower levels held contraptions from every horror movie Dean had seen. The rooms were dusty and the equipment broken, but the further down they went, the fewer beer cans Dean saw. Even drunk teenagers found this level too creepy. Dean couldn’t blame them. The halls echoed with long held screams. He wondered it the resident psychic could hear them. Dean sure as hell did. 

Cas stopped for a moment, Sam barely avoiding a collision with his back, and listened. The other three didn't interrupt him but exchanged confused and worried glanced with each other. Cas started up almost as quickly as he stopped. Dean grabbed Mercy’s arm to keep her from tumbling into a old mattress as they followed behind him.

“I'm not feeling any spirits,” Mercy said as they hurried in the wake of Cas's (Dean had to call it this because that's what it was) power walk. “But the sun is still up, so maybe…” Mercy trailed off when they reached what looked like a concrete wall.

They stopped directly in front of it, Cas staring it down as if his glare could melt away the wall. He sidestepped twice, then knocked on the wall, moving in some sort of strange musical pattern. On the last knock, the wall split in two, swinging inward like a double door.

The only phrase that came to mind was torture chamber. The hard backed dentist's chair lay out in the centre of the room while the sharp instruments shone on the bench against the wall, edged and cruel despite the dust that covered them. The room hadn't been used in a while, but it was clearly more modern than the rest of the building.

Cas walked into the room, the others fanning out behind him to investigate. When he placed his hand on the headrest of the chair and ran his hand down to the restraints, a shudder ran through his body.

“Ah, my little bluebird. You sure took your sweet time.”

The shot from Dean’s gun never made it past the doorway. The bullet caused ripples throughout the forcefield until it settled, invisible to the naked eye. The bullet casing clinked against the floor, bouncing into the darkness of the room. The man on the other side of the door wiped away an imaginary spec of dirt off his suit jacket.

“Rude. After all my work getting you here.” The man turned to face Cas. “And you brought the whole gang. How nice!”

Sam and Dean never lowered their weapons and Mercy backed into the corner to hide in the shadows. They might be trapped, but they were going to be ready for anything. Sam looked to Dean with a slight raise in his eyebrows. Dean mirrored the expression, then focused on Cas. They agreed. They should see what the newcomer wanted first.

The man and Cas stepped as close together as they could with the forcefield in the way. Cas squinted at the man, his hand reaching into the pocket Dean knew he kept his blade.

“Hey, relax. I'm just a delivery boy.” The man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a vial filled with a blue-white glowing substance.

Even in a confined space, Dean recognized the power held in the vial. It reminded him of the little glowing light Cas found in the church. From the way Cas straightened his stance, Dean figured he knew what it was, too.

“Where did you get that?” Cas asked, his voice betraying little.

“I got friends in high places.”

The man opened the vial. The light coalesced into a ball, slipping through the forcefield with ease. Dean shielded his eyes as the holy light bulb floated right past Cas and stopped in front of Sam. Cas never looked away from the stranger. Sam blinked at the light, but didn't make an attempt to shield himself. He stared at it, eyelids peeled back so far Dean could count the veins even from a few feet away, but never moved from his spot.

The man in the suit laughed. “Oh my poor bluebird. Tainted by humanity, indeed.”

“You speak as if you know me.”

“Oh, I do. Grab the little sparkler and you'll know.”

Without even a look at Cas, Dean knew to take his place as he went to Sam.

“I don't-- I don't understand,” Sam whispered.

“It's good to have faith,” Cas said. His next few words were a whisper Dean couldn't make out.

A few seconds later, the room was back to its moody darkness. Dean had to blink a few times before he could see the man on the other side of the door. He never moved, still wearing the same smirk he brought with him.

Cas appeared beside Dean, standing straight and tall. “Toby,” he said. “How's business?”

“Not as good since I lost my best customer. Missed you, bluebird.”

Cas pursed his lips and spoke through gritted teeth. “Customer?”

“Hey, I gave you my best drugs and I got to dig around in the beautiful head of yours. Even trade.”

Cas didn't respond. Not that he needed to, his anger was probably felt by the nearest neighbours. Dean heard some shuffling behind him. The man peered into the back of the room with interest. Well, if there was one thing Dean had learned in his long time hunting, it was that bad guys loved to talk.

“What do you get out of this?” Dean asked, changing his stance to force Toby’s eyes back to the front.

“Out of Hell.” He shrugged. “Hopefully.”

“Oh? So what you sell your soul for? Couple of lap dances?” he spoke a little louder to cover the metallic sound from behind him.

“Ha! Mr Model here thinks he's a funny one.” Toby shook his head and, as Dean expected, continued to speak. “Witch.” Dean couldn't help but shudder at the word. “Specializing in magic infused drugs. Heroin’s my best seller. But you know that, don't you, bluebird?” Cas crossed his arms, but didn't respond otherwise. “Great high, _terrible_ comedown. Eh, friend?” Cas only glared in response.

Witch. Drug dealer. _Awful_ dresser. And a giant dick, to boot. Dean hated this guy. “So those kids? There are no ghosts here, huh?”

“Oh no. But I had to get my bluebird in the nest somehow. I even stabbed them the same way.”

Add murderer to the list. Great.

“It didn't take,” Cas said.

“I know. Strange that. Guess my friends aren't done with you.”

“And what is it that they want?”

“Pffft. If I tell you that you'll kill me for sure.”

“I'm going to kill you anyway.”

Dean smirked at the face Toby made.

“Well, at least you're stuck. I'm going to go on my way.” Toby stepped closer and raised his fist. He knocked on empty air. He screwed up his face and tried again. Knock knock. He nearly fell through the door when he felt no resistance.

“Down!” Sam shouted.

Cas and Dean dropped down as something huge and metal flew above their heads, hitting the witch in the chest, knocking him to the floor. The four walked out of the room and stood over him, stuck in the iron chains.

Cas crouched and loomed over the witch, his face made of thunder. “You three should go on ahead.”

Nobody wanted to argue with him, so they stepped around the witch even as he yelled after their retreating steps. There was a shout and then silence. The other three faltered for moment, but not one of them turned around.

***

Dean, Sam, and Mercy waited in the entryway as Sam chattered away.

“I can't believe we managed to just _think_ away that barrier!”

“Well, there's a bit more to it than just thinking,” Mercy said, her pride clear in her smile.

“I know, I know! I just--” Sam threw his arms wide. “It worked!”

Mery smirked. “Guess you're glad I kept making you meditate, huh?”

Sam laughed, running a hand through his hair.

They kept talking, but Dean drowned them out. He didn't really want to rain on Sam's psycho weirdo parade just yet. No, that could wait until he was safely at the bar. Patented Winchester worry method, that. He paced the room. He paced the room again. He checked his watch.

“Hey, psychic twins!” He waited until they both acknowledged him. “Hasn't it been a long time?”

They went back downstairs. The room was once again covered by its hidden door. Probably best it stay that way, really. The only indication of their fight with the witch was a couple drops of blood on the floor. Cas had been thorough. They split up, looking into every room, but they all reached the same conclusion.

Cas was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

They waited a few days, Dean insisted, but Castiel never came back. In fact, his motorcycle was gone as soon as they got back to the motel that same day. Mercy just smiled at Dean when they returned and told him to stay as long as he needed. She pulled Sam aside after Dean went into the room.

“I know you have questions, Sam, but it’s not yet time,’ she said.

Sam hadn't questioned her. There was wisdom in her words that Sam didn't understand. Maybe it was her age. Maybe it was one of those things she could just feel. Either way, he didn't question it when Dean didn't speak more than a few words to him over the three days they stayed.

It did, however, give him time to think. He didn't understand everything that happened in the asylum. Dean definitely knew more than Sam, but even he didn't know enough. Only Castiel could really answer his questions and he doubted Castiel would tell him even if he could ask.

He wanted to know about the light. It haunted him now. He saw it in his dreams: so bright, so beautiful. Whenever he saw it he knew he should close his eyes but he could not. It sang to him when they were in the asylum, giving him serenity he had never felt before. For the scant few moments he stood next to it, Sam felt comfortable in his own skin. He never felt that before, always aware that there was something different about him. The light never hurt him, but it stirred something in his soul, touching that dark part of him he could always feel but never scrub clear.

Dean threw the last bag into Sam’s arms, heading out the door to load his into the Impala. Sam followed.

The ride back to Mercy’s house was a lot quieter, the tension in the car making Sam's skin prickle. He caught a glimpse of Mercy in the backseat, her smile serene but not quite reaching her eyes.

Someone please tell him that it was enough time. Please.

***

Castiel hadn't returned by the time they got back, either. Dean slammed the door on his way inside, while Mercy stayed with Sam, shaking her head even as she wore that same serene smile.

“He’ll come to you when he's ready,” Mercy said before carrying her bags into the house.

Sam wasn't sure what her words meant. Or for whom they were meant.

It was not yet time. He felt that for certain, the words forming themselves into his head, spoken in a loud and deep voice. He look behind him, but no one was there. No, the words came from within. He tried to ignore the chill that went down his spine when he realized it.

Sam went back to his studies. Mercy instructed him with the same firmness as before but it was clear she was distracted. Dean was the same. Both of them wandered the house like they were ghost themselves, going through the motions of daily life.

Not that Sam was much better. The light followed him everywhere, even though Castiel had hidden it away. Sam knew that was for the best. Even his short glimpse revealed just how much power was packed into its small shape. He still wanted to see it again.

It was not yet time.

Funny. Castiel had said the same thing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cas gets drunk/stoned (just weed). Literally everyone thinks it's a bad idea

A week. A goddamned week and Dean was already losing his mind. He didn't even have the right to be mad. After all, wasn't he the one who was gone for literal years?

Ugh. That made him feel worse.

At one in the morning, Dean sat on the porch swing, trying to decide if he should get up and grab the beer he had stashed in Baby’s trunk. Standing up and walking over there seemed like a lot of effort, so he sat and sulked.

Of course Cas would leave. Why wouldn't he? He could at least said goodbye to Mercy. She did, after all _, actually_ save his life. Dean didn't deserve a goodbye. Not like he gave one to Cas.

Ugh. Now he was going in circles.

The sound of heavy boots on gravel made Dean sit up. He couldn't see a damn thing in the dark since he hadn't bothered to turn the porch light on. That one streetlight gave the perfect brooding atmosphere and he didn't want to ruin it. Also, Dean left his gun by his bed when he came downstairs. He was just the king of great decisions.

Whoever headed up the driveway definitely had the drunken stagger. The person tripped over something, then muttered to themselves before carrying on. They didn't get too far before they stopped again.

Well, better to go down a hero. Hopefully the person was a happy drunk.

Dean wondered if it were possible for his eyes to roll out of his head. Sure felt like it. Cas stood before him, his coat only on one shoulder, staring at the door to the house.

“Cas?”

“Hel-” Cas coughed. “Hello, Dean.”

“What are you doing here, buddy?”

“I--I don't know.” His coat lost its valiant battle to stay on Cas's shoulder and fell to the ground. Cas watched it as it slid away, making no effort to stop it. “I can't go in.” He stared at the palms of his hands, as if he were surprised he had hands at all. “I--I don't…”

Dean took his chances and came in close enough to touch Cas. He didn't, though, no matter how much he wanted to chase away the haunted look in his eyes. “Whatcha been up to, dude?”

Cas looked up. “Drinking,” he said, like Dean was stupid for asking.

Well, yeah, that much was obvious but that wasn't what he was getting at. Now that he was closer, Dean could smell rose perfume and smoke. Not the tobacco kind, either.

“Yeah. I think you're leaving something out. Who kept you company?”

Cas blinked a few times while his slowed brain processed Dean’s words. The dude moved fast, however, when he grabbed at the collar of Dean’s leather jacket. Cas was strong, too, reeling Dean in until they were so close he could smell the whisky on Cas’s breath and see the red veins in his eyes. Cas breathed out, not letting go, and rest his forehead against Dean’s.

They stayed like that for a while. It wouldn't take much, really, for Dean to back away. He didn't. It wouldn't take much to kiss Cas, either, considering his lips were so damn close. He didn't.

Dean felt a tremor run through Cas’s body as he left out a frustrated breath. “Didn't want _her,”_ he growled. He held Dean’s gaze, pupils so wide his eyes barely had any colour. Dean couldn't say if it was the weed or not.

Cas made another sound, then pushed Dean away with enough force to send him back a few steps. “Left her when she went to the bathroom. Couldn't do it. Didn't want _her._ ” He threw his arms wide with a disgusted noise. “She had the _worst_ weed.”

Dean watched as Cas stumbled up the steps, staggering his way to the porch swing. He dropped down with a groan, his head lolling onto the backrest, eyes closed.

Okay. Once his body wasn't screaming at him to _just go for it already_ (what a terrible fucking idea, thanks), Dean sat beside Cas. They remained in silence. At least it would have been if it weren't for Cas’s occasional mutterings in a language Dean didn't understand. Dean wasn't sure if Cas was even aware he was talking.

“This was a bad fucking idea, Dean.” Cas rolled his head to the side, one eye open.

“Do anything worse than weed?”

“No.” Cas sat up and flashed Dean an indignant look. “That was a bad decision, yes. But I meant coming back here. Like this.”

“That so?”

“Thought it'd be easier if I drank. Talking’s always easier when I drink.”

“Uh-huh.”

“English--” Cas hiccuped-- “English doesn't work. I'm gonna try something else.”

Cas grabbed Dean by the shoulders, and placed his fingers under Dean’s chin to look at his eyes.

When Cas spoke, Dean didn't recognize a damn word he said, but that didn't matter. The language rolled out of him like a song, the poetry washing over Dean like the warm rays of the sun. Dean sat, entranced by the way Cas’s mouth shaped the words, how his eyes had a life to them, a shine that Dean had never seen before.

He didn't know a single word Cas said. But he sure felt it. Dean didn't have a name for whatever it was, but somehow he understood.

“Did--” Dean had to swallow the lump his throat before continuing-- “did that help?”

“I believe so. I think I finally understand the verses now.”

Cas sat back, still just as wasted as before, but much more comfortable with that fact. Dean thought he fell asleep until he spoke again. “It's been a year.”

“What?”

“It's been a year since I died.”

“Sorry. _What?”_

“I figured it out a while ago. I'm pretty sure Mercy knew, too. Sunset just made it clearer. No one leaves that much blood and walks away.”

“Cas…”

“So, guess you could say I was celebrating.” Cas paused and took in Dean’s deadpan stare. “Fine.” Cas sighed, somehow deflating to until he looked kid sized. “It’s strange, really. I know there's a Heaven. I was created there. I also know there's a Hell. I've fought there.” Cas straightened, looking at Dean as seriously as he could through his haze. “You know what I saw?” he whispered the question, as if he was about to uncover a conspiracy.

Dean blinked. Cas was so goddamn _close._ “What?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Cas laughed and yeah, dude was super high. “Not even Hell wants me.”

Something in the bitterness of Cas’s words made Dean pause. “What are you saying?”

Cas rolled his eyes like he thought Dean was the dumbest person he'd ever met. “I'm _saying,”_  he leaned forward, almost falling into Dean’s lap before Dean pushed him upright. “Nobody wants me. Not Heaven, not Hell. Not you. I mean, how else could I be alive? The amount of drugs I’ve taken? I should be super dead.” He bobbed his head in what he likely thought was a grave nod.

Holy shit that was a lot to unpack. Dean really should focus on the other stuff but… “You think I don't want you?”

Cas stared at him for a moment. “You left, didn't you?”

He looked at Dean with real confusion and oh shit he actually believed that. “I didn't leave because I didn't want you, Cas.”

Cas’s blink took a while five seconds to complete. “Then why?”

Wow, Dean was really in the hot seat now. He squirmed under Cas’s gaze for a few moments before deciding to speak. “I was scared.” Cas lifted his eyebrows to encourage Dean to continue. “Of-- of my dad finding out. Of Sam looking at me differently. Of you getting yourself killed before me. Of the world looking at me, judging me. Being disgusted by me.”

“No one could be disgusted by you, Dean.”

Dean snorted and studied his hands as he twisted his fingers around each other. “That night. Dad called me with a job. I thought he'd be there and I wasn't ready for him to know. I don't think I ever would've.” Dean returned his gaze to Cas who was there again with his goddamn understanding. “That's why I left.”

Cas surged forward and Dean was suddenly pressed against Cas’s body. Fuck it. Dean leaned in. He might smell like whisky and someone else’s perfume, but he was still _Cas._ He held onto Cas for dear life. It managed to keep Dean from falling apart.

“Sorry if I don't remember this tomorrow,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s hair.

The absurdity made Dean laugh. He pat Cas on the back. “Hey, Cas. Can you do something for me?”

“Is it to be sober? Might take a little while.”

“Well, that too. But I was going to ask you to tell more about the stars.”

“Oh that. I can do that. I think.”

It took some work to untangle starfish Cas, but they managed to do the job. As Cas talked, Dean put his head on Cas’s shoulder, enjoying the fact he could do that.

Sure, Cas probably won't remember a fucking thing tomorrow. Somehow, that made it easier. Dean couldn't decide if he was comforted by that fact, or disappointed.

***

Mercy washed the dishes with a ferocity Dean had to admire. The dishes changed and clattered as she put them away. When she threw them into the cabinets, Dean was certain they would break. They never did. It made for a pretty impressive performance, especially with the tape with the Moby Dick drum solo banging away from Mercy’s ancient stereo which Dean had totally not put in there that morning.

Dean wasn't a total monster. He carried the biggest cup of tar masquerading as coffee to Cas. He was pretty sure it was strong enough to hold a spoon up if Dean thought to try. Cas gave what could have been a nod, though it was hard to tell when he was face down on the table.

Sam sipped his tea in his seat, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone. He made the mistake of offering to help Mercy. Poor kid.

When Mercy finished her task she shut off the music. All three men shot up, Cas with a wince, with their eyes wide.

Mercy sighed, then turned to see three grown men looking at her like frightened deer. She tried to look severe but Dean saw the beginning of a smirk curling her lips.

“Cas--” she threw the dish towel onto the stove and wrapped her cardigan tight around her shoulders before locking eyes with Cas-- “you made me worry.”

Cas hunched over, dropping his head in his hands. He ran his hands through his hair before looking back up, hands linked together at the back of his neck.

“Just don't get yourself killed, alright? The world needs you alive out there. I need you alive out there. Don't go throwing away all your progress, okay?”

“I'm sorry,” Cas said.

“Good. Now, I expect the lawn to be mowed and kitchen _spotless_ by tonight. Got it?” Cas nodded, then Mercy looked to Dean. “Don't you dare help him. I’ll know. Alright Sam, lets go.”

Sam jumped out of his seat, probably too terrified to say anything. Dean could see the pure relief on his face when he left the kitchen.

“Woah. Scary.” Dean said.

Cas made a noise of agreement, then downed half his coffee in one gulp. “I deserve it.”

“You kinda do.”

Cas rolled his eyes, then downed the last of the coffee. “I suppose I should start my work.”

When Cas got up, Dean almost yanked him back down. Cas left the kitchen and Dean almost shouted for Cas to come back. Dean didn't do either of those things, even though he wanted to interrogate Cas about the night before. Dean didn't know what answer he hoped Cas would give. So he stayed still and watched as Cas walked out the front door. Cas’s words, the one that had no meaning but Dean understood, rang in his ears.


	14. Chapter 14

Okay. It'd been long enough. Castiel couldn't still be hungover, right?

Sam knocked on the door to Castiel's room not really expecting an answer. At least this way, he could say he tried.

He hadn't even lowered his hand when the door opened and Castiel appeared. “Sam. What do you need?”

He didn't think he'd get this far. His hand was still in the air and he made a really elegant “bwa?” sound as he tried to make his brain cooperate. Apparently that was enough for Castiel to usher him into his room.

Stepping into the room was like entering a portal. The room was plastered from wall to wall with paintings of the stars, all tied together with a chaotic string of yellow paint across each one. He couldn't see the carpet under the mess of loose paper and paint splotches. Sam couldn't figure out where Castiel slept because he didn't see a bed. 

“Did you make all these?”

Castiel glared at the painting on his desk, as if he could make it burst into flames. “Yes.”

“They're good,” Sam said, remembering some truly awful art pieces he suffered through before finally finding the courage to talk to Jess. “They should be in a gallery or something.”

Sam’s comment seemed to amuse Castiel or at least Sam thought he saw a smile. It was hard to tell. Castiel offered Sam the chair to his desk while he shoved a pile of paintings down onto the floor, not reacting to the crash they made in the way down. Oh, there was the bed.

Castiel sat on the bed across from Sam. “Ask.” 

Castiel had a way of looking at someone like he could see right into their soul. At least, that's what Sam felt like right now. He squirmed in his seat, wondering how Dean could stare back for so long. 

“It's the light,” Sam said to his lap, “I…”

He couldn't finish his sentence because he didn't have the right words. Castiel gave him some time to think, the look in his eyes kind but unreadable.

“The light sensed your faith,” Castiel said, “that is a good thing.”

Sam pulled his oversized hoodie tight over his hips, as if that could stop his heart from pouring out. “Is it? What if-- what if it knows?”

“Knows what?” 

“That I need to be cleansed.”

“Sam.” Castiel's voice was close now, his tone the same one might use on a scared child. “Why would you think that?” 

Lifting his head, Sam saw Cas crouched in front of him. Sam had never really looked at Castiel, Dean did that enough for both of them, but he did now. The tattoos across Castiel’s arms didn't hide all the track marks in his arm from up close. The lines themselves were strange to Sam, written in a script that he couldn't place, especially with the colours obscuring the words, flowing in and out of the black like a watercolour painting. Sam focused on them now, trying to figure out why the script felt familiar to him but he couldn't quite place it. 

Castiel spoke his name. Sam looked into Castiel's eyes and didn't see any malice in them. Dean trusted this guy, right? Did Sam?

There was something in the back of his head, something in his dreams, that pinged him when Castiel studied him. He just couldn't figure it out. Sam peered into Castiel's eyes saw someone much older than his body suggested, that held much more sadness than any one person could take. Sam’s ears rang, like a song he wasn't able to hear with his limited perception.

“What  _ are _ you?” 

Castiel pursed his lips and Sam saw the sadness deepen. “It is not yet time,” he said, resting his palm on Sam’s forehead. “I'm sorry, my friend.”

There was a flash of light.

Sam woke up, feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. Mercy’s drills really took it out of him this time. Too bad he didn't stay awake enough to talk Castiel. Oh well, it wasn't that important anyway.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean snapped his fingers a few times but Cas never took his glassy eyed stare off the television. He waved his hand around and still nothing. Dean gave up and sat on the couch, watching an old sitcom he was pretty sure he saw nine thousand times before. There really wasn't a whole lot to do when you grew up in a motel room. TV was the MVP of his childhood.

The credits rolled and Cas spoke to the television, maybe hoping the actors could answer him. “All are my decisions destined to be the wrong one?”

Okay, then. Cas was sure in a great mood. “Well, your first problem is 'destined.’ Ain't no such thing.”

Cas didn't move, but he did blink a few times so Dean figured he was absorbing what was said.

“You think so? Then why did I feel compelled--”

“Morning! Still up?”

Sam marched down the stairs, a spring in his step. Cas stood up like he had a hot poker shoved up his ass. He turned his back on Sam and Dean, already halfway across the room.

“You're awake already? Perhaps I should--”

The door rattled in its frame as someone pounded on the wood. Dean caught Sam’s eye, who looked as confused as he felt. The men froze where they were until the racket started up again.

“What in the hell?” Mercy appeared at the top of the stairs, one fuzzy slipper tumbling down the steps. “Do they know what time it is?”

The doorknob rattled as they looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

“Come on, Steven. I know you're in there!” The angry woman shouted and tried the door again.

“Oh fuck,” Dean and Mercy said at the same time.

Dean leaned over the couch to pull back the curtain and, sure enough, the world’s angriest Golden Girl was on the front porch, still in her housecoat and hair rollers, shouting at the door.

“One week! She has one week! Goddammit, Steven, you can fix this!” She hit the door again. “I saw the curtains move. I know you're in there.”

Cas stood in front of the door, watching as the hinges fought valiantly against the force of the old woman's fists. He held his hand out, not quite touching the wood, looking on with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

“No, Cas,” Mercy said, joining the others in the front room.

“Buddy, you do not need to answer her,” Dean said.

The room was quiet for a moment, then Dean nearly left his skin behind when the banging started again.

“But,” Sam said, walking across the room until he was beside Cas, “what does she want? _Can_ you help her?”

Sam drew himself up to his full height. Next to him, Cas looked small with his hunched shoulders and lowered gaze. Dean took a few steps before he stopped himself. He wanted to reach out, put a hand on Cas’s shoulder, do something that would keep him from opening that door.

Cas spoke to his feet. “She lost her family a few months ago in a car crash: husband, daughter, and son-in-law. She took in Lacey, her granddaughter. A few weeks after the car crash Lacey was diagnosed with cancer.”

“Cas, that is not your responsibility!” Mercy said, in the tone of someone who had argued this many times over.

“We were friends once,” Cas said. “I at least owe her enough to speak to her face to face.”

“Whoa, Cas! No no--” Dean could call it hunter’s intuition. He knew that if Cas opened that door, it would be bad news. Dean was too late. Cas unlocked the door and swung it open. Sam never tried to stop him.

“Mrs Jones,” Cas said, and then--

“Gun!” Sam shouted.

Sam dove over the couch, trying to pull Cas behind him. Cas shrugged him off. Dean fell to the side, grabbing Mercy and hiding her behind the table.

Hunter life showed Dean a lot of horrible, blood curling terrors that he could still see at night but somehow the sight of an elderly women, half dressed with tears streaming down her face, fingering the trigger of a gun pointed at Cas put ice in his veins. The worst part was that Cas stood, his hand still on the doorknob, not making a single effort to protect himself. He waited for the woman to make her move, as if he deserved to have a weapon in his face.

“I lost everything,” she whispered through her tears, the gun in her hand shaking.

“I'm sorry, Beverly,” Cas said.

“Do you know what it's like to lose someone you love?”

Fuck. Dean should just make sure he was packing all the time. He left Mercy where she was, out of sight and safe. Sam was behind the couch, looking underneath it for something he could use as a weapon. He made eye contact with Dean and shook his head. No luck.

Right. He was gonna do this. Sam hissed at him as he stood up, but Dean ignored it.

“Why can't we all just get along?” He raised his hands above his head and moved until he was a few paces behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Dean. No.” Cas shifted his body a little, in an attempt to hide him from the woman. Dean just moved again.

Beverly stared Dean down, red nosed and bleary eyed, until her lips shaped an 'O.’ 

“If I shot this one, would you understand then? Would you help me then?” She swayed as if she were in a trance, shifting her gun until it aimed over Cas’s shoulder.

Cas stepped back, trying to shield Dean with his body. “Your problem is with me you don't have to--”

“So you would. Okay.” Beverly grinned, her teeth as threatening as a werewolf's maw, and pulled the trigger.

Sam screamed Dean's name. Dean dropped but he already knew it was too late. Beverly gasped when the shot let go, her eyes wide, and collapsed to her knees, sobbing. The gun clatted against the wood slats of the porch.

The pain didn't come. Dean chanced a look up and oh no--

“Cas, Cas, hold on. I got you--” Dean crawled to Cas, collapsed in the threshold, and moved him just enough to see the wound. “It's okay, it's okay. Missed the heart. Don't worry. I got you.”

Cas blinked up at Dean as Dean grabbed one of Mercy’s prized star patterned throw blankets to press against the wound. He ran his thumb over Cas’s cheek, forcing him to look at Dean.

“Come on, babe, keep those eyes open. I got you.”

“I didn't-- I didn't mean--” Beverly spluttered from her ball on the porch.

“You shut the fuck up,” Dean spat. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“On it!” He heard Mercy shout as she ran into the next room.

A first aid kit dropped beside Dean and Sam stepped over the scene in order to secure the gun and pull Beverly away. She didn't resist.

“Dean?” Cas struggled to keep his eyes open, but he managed. “Are you alright?”

Dean’s hands were covered in blood from digging in Cas shoulder and that's the first thing he says. “You fucking idiot. You're the one who's bleeding.”

“You're lucky Beverly’s a bad shot.”

Dean had to stop and take a breath. Goddammit. A couple more inches and-- “Just keep those eyes open, okay? Help’s on the way.”

“Okay,” he said. “Is everyone safe?”

“Yes, alright? Now please just worry about yourself.”

The sheen of sweat just highlighted how pale Cas had grown in the last few moments. Where the fuck was that ambulance? Why did they have to be in the middle of nowhere? Goddamn small towns.

“You shouldn't worry about me. I am very bad at dying.”

“Seriously? That's supposed to comfort me?”

Cas lay his head back in lieu of a shug. “It’s true.”

Dean pulled back the bandage from the kit to check the wound. Yeah, Dean was a little spooked, he'd be the first to say that. So maybe he imagined the little white sparks that danced across the hole in Cas’s shoulder. He had to admit, though, the wound looked a hell of a lot better than it did thirty seconds ago. Even the bleeding slowed.

No no no. No way was he looking this one in the mouth. He'd freak out about that later.

The sirens ran in the distance. The cavalry had arrived.

***

Dean hated hospitals. No. That wasn't a strong enough word. Loathe? Detest? Abhor? Man, Sam could probably give one of those fancy college words. That would help. Not that he could talk to Sam at the moment.

When they arrived, Dean may have been a smidge upset. Just a bit. He may have yelled at the high school volunteer at the front desk before he was chased out by the scariest nurse Dean had ever met.

Dean had to wait outside, glowering at the front door. He resisted the urge to flip off everyone who gave him a scared Bambi look as they went inside. At least he calmed down enough to sit on the bench.

The scary nurse walked out of the building, dropping down beside Dean without even asking. Her long red fingernails bringing a cigarette to even redder lips.

“So, you feel like talking like a person, now?” Her deep voice and frown lines must work like a charm on her grandkids.

Dean sighed and make a conscious effort untangle himself. “My bad,” he said, forcing the words out from under a bubble of rage.

“Sorry,” she said through a cloud of smoke. “Didn't quite catch that apology.”

“I'm sorry.”

“That's better. Now, how long have you been together?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep catching up to him, but Dean couldn't follow her shift in topic. “What?”

“Sweetheart, I was a nurse in the eighties. I know the look.”

Oh. _Oh._ Dean turned to face the nurse for the first time. She smiled at him and her whole face changed from severe grandmother to a cherubic Mrs Claus. She waited as Dean tried to relax his spine, which had frozen in the upright and locked position. The inability to move was only reason he hadn't run away yet. Well, that and it'd be a dick move to leave Sam and Mercy without a ride. And okay, fine, he also needed to know Cas was safe before he could do anything else.

“Um, I mean-- its… we--” Dean floundered for a response and the nurse's smile only grew kinder. “We were. Then not. But--”

Dean threw his hands up, unable to complete his thought. The nurse just nodded, as if she knew exactly what he meant. Dean hoped she would tell him, because he sure as hell didn't know.

“Alright,” she said, dropping her finished cigarette into the pavement. “I'll let you back in. Now, I wrote you down as my patient’s brother and you damn well better not say otherwise.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good. I'll let you know when he wakes up. Behave yourself.” She stomped on the cigarette, stood up, and walked back into the hospital without a single glance behind her. The people outside got the hell out of her way.

***

A few hours later Dean entered the room of a groggy but very much alive Cas. He sat up in the bed, staring down at the IV in his arm. It took nearly a full minute before he looked up.

“Hello,” he said, his voice rough, “I don't suppose you managed to smuggle in a smoke?”

“Hey, buddy,” replied Dean. “No, I did not. Your lungs will thank me for it.”

Cas grumbled out a noise, but otherwise said nothing. His gaze returned to the drip in his arm.

“Mercy and Sam say 'hi.’ They went back to the house. She said, and I quote 'I need someone who knows how to get blood out of the carpet.’ I mean, we do, but still.” Dean tried to catch Cas’s eye, but he remained in his own world. “Dude? You okay?”

Cas blinked a few times and looked up and down the length of the drip. “Does it count as a relapse?”

Right. The doctors must have given Cas pain medication, which would explain the slowness. “I mean, it's not like you had a choice.”

Cas made another sound, like he didn't quite agree. “Never liked morphine. Feels weird.” Cas looked up then. “Get me out of here.” He put a hand to his chest, breaths heavy, and stared Dean down with wide eyes.

The urgency in Cas’s voice gave Dean pause. He searched the tiny room for the visitor's chair, its legs scraping across the floor as he pulled it close to Cas’s bed. Dean sat down, tapping his hand against Cas’s thigh.

“Talk to me.”

Leaning back into his bed, Cas stared at the blank television. “Last time I was in a hospital was… difficult.”

“You mean after Mercy found you.”

“Yes. Withdrawal was unpleasant.” Cas closed his eyes. “I went straight to jail afterwards. That was… also unpleasant.”

“I bet.”

Cas turned into his side again, as much as his injury would allow, and touched a fingertip to the bandage over the needle in his arm. “Don't let me walk out of here with opioids. Please.”

Dean covered Cas’s hand with his own, making him unable to see the line. Dean leaned forward, until Cas was forced to lock eyes with him. “Hey. You are _not_ a junkie.”

“Aren't I?”

The words rang around the tiny room, stealing the air out of Dean’s lungs. Dean squeezed Cas’s hand, trying to find an answer to his genuine question. Cas didn't say the words with any bitterness or cynicism, but with innocence. He really didn't know. Dean wanted to punch whoever it was that called Cas that, putting the words into his head. Dean wanted to slap the dick cop who told Cas 'once an addict, always an addict' because he knew that Cas heard those words every time he looked down at his arm.

“You're not,” Dean said. Cas nodded, but his expression didn't change. Dean squeezed Cas’s hand again. “I won't let you.”

Cas gave Dean a tight smile. “Thank you.” He didn't look convinced, but he did place his free hand over Dean's and returned the hand squeeze. “What happened to Beverly?”

Dean couldn't control the anger he felt at the name. “Why should you care?”

“She’s losing the last of her family, Dean. She’s desperate.”

“And she _shot_ you.”

“What would you have done for your family?”

Damn it. Cas knew how to hit where it hurt. If it were Sam. If he thought there was a way to save Sam would he--

“I wouldn't have _shot_ you over it.”

Cas pat Dean on the hand, but otherwise didn't say anything else about it. “If the cops talk to you, just don't be too harsh on her. That's all I ask.”

Goddammit, Cas’s puppy dog eyes were nearly as bad as Sam’s. “Fine. Only 'cause you asked.”

“Thank you.” Cas leaned back, his eyes closed. “I think I should sleep now.”

Dean watched the rise and fall of Cas’s chest and marveled at every breath. God, if that woman had a steadier hand, if Cas had moved at the wrong time, if Dean hadn't drawn attention to himself, if, if, if. Dean leaned back in the chair, causing it to creak under the strain. Apparently, the quiet, dark hospital room was a great place to finally freak out about everything. Fantastic.


	16. Chapter 16

“You know, I almost made it fifty years without having to learn this,” Mercy said. She scrubbed the carpet, the stain changing from red to pink. “And I really could have gone without.”

Mercy brushed the same spot over and over again, the constant swirling threatening to bore a hole in the floor. She dropped the brush in the bucket of cleaner, nearly knocking it over in the process, and returned to the same spot. The pungent smell of bleach burned Sam’s nose when he knelt down beside her. He placed his hand over her wrist, stopping her frantic swirling. Sam couldn't see her face through the veil of hair, but he felt her sigh. When she looked up, her eyes were red rimmed and the lines on her face seemed to have deepened over the last few hours.

“I'm a goddamned psychic and I didn't know. I didn't sense anything.” Mercy took a shuddering breath and threw the brush into the bucket. She leaned back, resting her hands on her knees.

Sam sat crossed legged on the floor beside Mercy, waiting as she calmed down. For the first time since he walked down the stairs that morning, Sam had a moment to stop and catch his breath. There was a thought digging at the back of his mind he couldn't quite bring to the front. He was looking at it through layers of wool, unable to see anything more than a blur. It was an uneasy feeling, like he had forgotten something important, something that he had to act upon. He rubbed his eyes and rest his face in his hands.

Maybe it was the way Dean reacted at the hospital, how Mercy struggled to still her hands as she sat beside Sam, or the fact that Sam was cleaning his blood out of the carpet but the thought of Castiel gave Sam a headache. He couldn't shake the feeling that Castiel could help him figure out this feeling of unease. The more Sam thought about it, the more he wanted to march over to the hospital and demand answers. He wasn't going to do it. Not yet, at least. It was probably a good idea to let the guy who jumped in front of a bullet to save his brother at least a day to rest.

The fact that Castiel had done that also made Sam’s head hurt.

The wet slap of Mercy’s brush snapped Sam back to reality. He joined her, watching the grey carpet turn back to its original white. Mercy kept scrubbing, working her way through the entire front room. Sam helped her, figuring he'd try to distract himself too. It kind of worked, but maybe he was only lightheaded from the bleach fumes. Hey, whatever helps.

***

Dean returned the next morning, his face still pale. He was much calmer, however, bringing the news that Castiel would soon return. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Sam saw Mercy smile. She hurried off upstairs, muttering about clean linens.

Dean flopped onto the couch with a groan, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. He looked like he didn't intend to move. Sam was about to walk away when Dean opened his eyes.

“Hey. Cas said he wanted to talk to you.”

Sam stopped halfway through a step, the uneasy feeling rising in his stomach. “About what?”

“Don't know. Wouldn’t say.” Dean probably didn't know how much he sounded like a petulant child in that moment. “Just said to come at night. Then he kicked me out.”  Dean’s head lolled back and, by all appearances, he fell asleep.

A song. That's what the feeling was-- a strange buzzing sensation under his skin. It vibrated, almost as if it were excited, when Sam decided to follow up on Castiel's request.

Okay, that was weird. Sam rubbed at his arms. What the hell?

***

The big nurse who chased Dean out at the hospital met Sam at the front desk, ushering him into Castiel’s room after dark. Castiel looked up from his perch in the centre of the bed, dressed in dirty jeans and a t-shirt a couple sizes too big for him, likely fished out of the hospital's lost and found.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Castiel said.

The nurse sighed. “Just don't make me regret this. You have one hour.” She paused in her way out the door. “In my professional opinion, you shouldn't check yourself out for another few days.”

“Acknowledged.” Castiel stood, swaying a little when he got on his feet. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Charlotte returned Castiel's smile, looking down at her feet shyly before shuffling out the door. Seems like Dean wasn't the only one who couldn't resist Castiel's earnest charm.

“It's good to see you, Sam,” Castiel said once the door snapped shut.

“You're standing. After one day.”

Castiel shrugged, then winced when it pulled at his shoulder. “I heal fast.”

When Castiel stepped closer, the song in Sam’s head grew louder. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the ache it caused. Castiel stared at him with deep concentration, concern etched into every line on his face. He narrowed his eyes for a moment as he studied Sam, then his face softened and his shoulders drooped.

“Oh, Sam. I am so sorry.”

“About what?” Sam grit his teeth against the loud hum that responded to Castiel's voice.

“I thought it would help you. I will fix this. Please stand still.”

Castiel reached out his hand, lightly pressing it to Sam’s chest. Castiel hummed low, the tune matching the one in Sam’s head. The song was happy, jumping around in Sam’s head until it merged into a single point. There was a flash of light, bright and blinding, accompanied by a shrill note, and the pain lifted.

Sam raised his head and looked into Castiel's eyes over the ball of light and, for a moment, he saw an ancient being, made of light and power standing across from him.

Castiel clasped his hands together and the light disappeared. Sam blinked a few times before he could see anything.

“What _the fuck,_ ” Sam said, not wasting time on tact.

“It wasn't time before,” Castiel said, “I'm sorry. I wasn't ready for your questions.”

Sam leaned against the wall as he felt the memories rushing back. That night he went to Castiel for answers and Castiel _did_ something to him.

“You took my memory,” Sam said, unable conceal the snarl curling his lip, “that isn't-- that's not--”

Castiel stepped forward, his hands outstretched with his palms up and open. “It was wrong. I understand if you don't forgive me.” He bowed his head. “I’m ready to show you now.”

“Show me?”

“What I am. Was. Follow me.”

Castiel was out the door without a backward glance, confident that Sam would follow. Sam did chase after him. He was pissed, sure, but he also needed answers. His curious nature demanded it.

Castiel spoke low as they walked through the halls. “I know you can feel it; Mercy as well. Something is coming. Something soon. I need to stop it but I don't know how.” Castiel stopped at a door in the children’s ward.

It was true. Sam knew something was coming. The sensation got stronger the more he worked with Mercy. He didn't have a name for it either but, somehow, he had a feeling it came with yellow eyes.

“What does this room have to do with it?”

Castiel looked at the door, as if he were surprised to see it. “Nothing. I’m here to help someone who was once a friend.” He paused with his hand in the door. “No matter what you see, Sam, please know that I consider you a friend. That I never intend to bring harm to you, your brother, or any innocent.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will.” Castiel took a deep breath, then opened the door.

Every conceivable piece of hospital equipment was jammed into the tiny room, tubes and lines and beeping machines all converging into into a single point under the bed covers. A tiny head, hairless and odd coloured, emerged from the blankets as the men walked in.

“Hello, Lacey,” Castiel said as he settled into the chair beside the child’s bed. He nodded towards the door. “That is my friend, Sam.”

The girl eyed Sam from under the blanket, then turned away, accepting his presence. “Cas,” she said, her voice a quiet rasp, “you’ve been gone.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“S'okay. Grandma said not to talk to you.”

“I know. I hope we didn't wake you.”

“Can't sleep. Might not wake up.”

The girl pushed the blankets down to her waist and struggled to sit up even with Castiel's help. Sam forced himself to stay by the door. He was invited here, of course, but only as a witness. It wasn't his place to intervene. Lacey was swamped by all the machinery around her but she had the presence of a child who was forced to grow up fast.

“What was your aunt's name? The one in Wyoming?” Castiel asked.

“Aunt Rosa?”

“Yes, her. Have you spoken to her recently?”

“She said she was coming for... for the end.”

Castiel leaned forward in his chair, his hand resting on Lacey's bare head. “It’s not the end. Do you still trust me?”

Lacey stared up at Castiel, as he rose to stand above her. “Yes.”

“Then close your eyes.”

Castiel drew himself to his full height, both hands pressed to Lacey’s head as she complied to his request.

The air felt charged, like there was about to be a thunderstorm in the middle of the room, and the smell of ozone overtook the usual hospital odours. Sam’s hair stood on end and he felt a tingle run up his spine as his body reacted to the power on the room. Castiel hummed and the light, once a concentrated ball, filled the room.

Castiel rolled his shoulders back, taking his hands away from Lacey as the light started to ring, sounding like the same song Sam heard in his head not long before. The light became brighter and Castiel's eyes blazed a brilliant blue.

Then, it happened. Sam had to resit the urge to run out of the room when he saw it, just a flash, before he had to shield his eyes from the glare. On either side of Castiel’s body, there was the shadow of wings. The wings were there, Sam could feel them in the room, overwhelming the room with their shear presence. Sam swore feathers brushed across his skin as the wings wrapped around the room, too big for the small space. He couldn't see them, however, not within the confines of his human senses.

Sam covered his eyes and fell to his knees, experiencing the true definition of something awesome. Despite the way his heart pounded and how each nerve in his body fired off until he couldn't move at all, he wasn't afraid.

Castiel was an angel; Sam knew that for certain. He had no reason to deny it, not after witnessing a miracle.

The light drained away, returning the room to it’s prior state. The room came into being in pieces to Sam’s senses: first the shape of it, then the furniture, then the sounds.

Castiel stood over Lacey’s bed, the girl curled into a restful sleep, his shoulders heaving with shaking breaths. He looked over at Sam, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and collapsed to the floor.

Sam’s clumsy limbs, still stiff from his tensed nerves, didn't carry him across the room in time to catch Castiel. He pulled Castiel off of the floor, grasping him by his uninjured shoulder to look at his face.

Sam wanted to say a lot of things, but he didn't have any words, so he stared, wide eyed, and didn't say anything.

“Don't. Don't look at me like that,” Castiel said, tiredness clear in his voice, “I don't deserve it.” Castiel used Sam’s shoulder to steady himself and led them both out of Lacey’s room. “Just get me out of here.”


	17. Chapter 17

Sam stumbled back into the house after midnight, an exhausted looking Cas in tow. They burst through the door with enough force that Dean shot up from his place in the couch, hand already reaching for his gun.

“Dude! Little warning next time!”

Sam didn't even launch him a bitchface. That's how Dean knew something was up. Sam half carried Cas over to the couch, helping him settle into the cushions. Cas still looked pale, his dark circles looking more like caverns now, and he rubbed at his shoulder, right over his injury. Clearly, Cas was still in pain and should be somewhere that could be fixed like, oh, a hospital.

Dean was about to admonish Sam for bring Cas back so soon, but his words died before they left his mouth. Sam had a look in his eyes that Dean had only seen once before. It was awe, rapture, like he had just seen the face of God.

Oh shit.

“Dean,” Sam said, his smile disturbingly wide. “Castiel is an angel.”

“Fallen angel, as I told you,” Castiel said, groaning as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position, “and very mortal. As this vessel is reminding me.”

“Cas. What did you do?”

“I helped a friend.”

“He cured cancer,” said Sam.

“Oh. You cured cancer.” Dean loomed over Cas, staring him down until he opened his eyes. “Don't you think that's going to attract _a little_ attention?”

“I did think of that, yes.”

Dean put his hands on his hips. “Did I _not_ tell you to look after yourself?”

“Why do you think I brought Sam?”

Dean could only make a noise of frustration in response.

“Wait. You don't sound surprised at all, Dean,” Sam said.

Oops. Dean turned around, hoping his face looked properly innocent. “Well, um…”

Sam's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “ _You knew._ ”

“Dean is not much of a believer.”

“Not helping me, Cas.”

Sam stood still, not even blinking as he looked between the two of them. He stayed like that for nearly a full minute. Dean squirmed as he waited for Sam to say anything, do something, but he didn't move.

“It's time, isn't it?” Mercy came downstairs, unfazed by the strange picture the three men made, addressing Cas.

Cas tried to stand up, but stilled when Mercy put up her hand. She sat down beside him, her face drawn.

“Yes,” Cas replied.

Mercy flinched at the word but nodded her head. “I felt it, you know, when you used the power. And if I noticed it--”

“So will the others,” Dean finished. “You're leaving.”

Cas nodded, looking up at Dean with sad eyes. Mercy hunched over, her hands folded in her lap.

“When?” She asked, quiet, not wanting an answer but needing it all the same.

“I need to recover. Two days. Three at most.”

Mercy sucked in a breath, then slowly let it out. “Guess I should make sure you're set up.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“Yes. I do,” she said.

Mercy stood, taking slow, trudging steps back upstairs. “It has been a pleasure, gentlemen.” She smiled at them, making no effort to hide the tears on her cheeks. She was gone.

Sam jumped when he heard Mercy's door close in the quiet house. He looked between Dean and Cas. “I don't understand.”

“I am not well liked amongst my peers,” Cas said, straining with the effort to stand up. He placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“No problem.” Sam said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told you, don't look at me like that. I did nothing to earn it.” Cas smiled, fondness in his eyes.

Dean stared at his feet. He felt Cas’s gaze, he always did, but he wasn't ready to look up, to see Cas’s face for the last time.

He wasn't ready to say goodbye.

Dean turned on his heel, marching his way to his bed-closet without looking back. The door closed behind him with an echoing crash.

***

Dean wasn't sulking. That’s what a teenage girl did when she couldn't get anyone to call her back. No, Dean was hiding.

Wait. That wasn't any better.

He ignored the knocks on the door. Sam’s knock was a loud one, accompanied by a “come on man!” before he stomped away. Mercy’s knock was quick. She walked away before Dean could make the decision to ignore her. The last knock was Cas: a soft rap, followed by him standing behind the door. When he finally left, he had said a few words that sounded like a goodbye.

An hour after that, Dean got up. Everyone had gone to bed by then and Dean hadn't eaten all day. That was his excuse, at least. When he made it to the kitchen, Cas was leaning on the counter, his shirt draped over one of the chairs, picking at his latest wound.

Dean should have turned back around right then but instead he looked. The tattoos Dean still remembered spayed across Cas's back. While familiar, they were different now. Cas had added colour: greens and blues and many more flowed over his skin to fill the empty spaces in between. Dean studied them, rediscovering Cas anew. It reminded him how much he missed in Cas’s life and how much he didn't know. Cas may be a mortal now but in many ways he was still a divine being, who had observed lifetimes before he came to Earth. Thinking about it made Dean’s head explode. After all, just a few years ago he would have never believed someone like Cas could exist.

But he did exist. Dean had touched him, had known him in the most intimate of ways, had listened to him speak about wonders beyond Dean’s comprehension. How the hell was Dean, a mere human who couldn't even admit to his father how he felt about a man, measure up to bearing witness to Creation?

Cas turned around and he smiled. One of the ones that made his eyes crinkle at the edges and him gums show. Soft, genuine, like he was actually happy to see Dean.

Cas opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Dean spoke first. “Dude. You're bleeding.”

Holding his shoulder, Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean. “I’ve noticed.” He turned back around to dab at the wound with a clean cloth.

“Doesn't it hurt?”

“Yes,” Cas said, “but I'm getting used to it.”

It was almost like Cas should have stayed at the hospital. The fact that he was trying to heal without painkillers likely made things worse but Dean did have to respect his decision. He watched Cas try and fail to redress his wound one-handed a few times before he stepped forward, his mind only catching up when he grabbed Cas’s good shoulder.

When Cas faced him, it suddenly occurred to Dean that the guy wasn't wearing a shirt. Sure, he noticed it before but now, in the barely lit kitchen standing close enough that he could hear every breath, he really noticed it. The colour hadn't yet moved onto to Cas's chest. He had added more black to his skin, covering the scar in his other shoulder from that night in the church and another on his hip, presumably due to the witch in the asylum. Dean wondered if Cas was going to be able to cover the newest scar from the gunshot. It had distorted the lines already there, giving them ragged edges. Every ink line, every scar, told a story and Dean wanted to know them all.

Dean hadn't meant to stare. The last time he saw Cas half naked from the shower he did all he could to keep his eyes from wandering. Now though, he lacked the self control to keep himself from looking, maybe because it was his last chance. Dean hoped he didn't look like he was leering. He could practically hear the saxophones in the distance the longer the silence dragged on. Well, if there was one thing Dean could do, it was ignore things and run his mouth.

“So, Sam drive you nuts yet?”

Cas smirked, even as Dean pressed at his shoulder to check the damage. Only about thirty-six hours and already the wound was half healed. It started to bleed because Cas picked at the skin, not because of any internal issues.

“He has an inquiring mind,” Cas said.

“I bet. I'll smack him if you want.”

“I doubt that will be necessary.”

“Maybe I'll do it anyway.”

Cas huffed a sound of amusement and Dean took that opportunity to tighten the bandage and tape it down. If his hands lingered a little bit longer than needed (damn Cas was solid) no one would sue him.

“Thank you,” Cas said, but somehow Dean felt he wasn't talking about the bandage.

Dean took a few steps back in order the resist the urge to touch, touch, touch. “Why didn't you heal yourself?”

As endearing as it was to watch Cas tilt his head as he thought about Dean's question, Dean’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited for an answer. He hadn't meant to blurt out the question and he wasn't sure if he had the right to ask. All the same, he wanted to know. Cas could cure incurable cancer but he couldn't fix a bullet hole? It was kind of strange.

Cas rubbed at his shoulder, stopping himself when he felt the bandage. “I don't know?” He paused, thinking about it some more. “I never thought about it.”

Dean took one step forward, not letting himself come any closer. He made an inarticulate sound and threw his arms above his head. Cas watched him, still leaning on the counter, and didn't react.

“What is it?” Cas asked, softly, after Dean settled.

“I just-- it's just--” Dean didn't have the right to say this he didn't-- “I just want to know you'll be okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, if you're going away, I won't be able to keep an eye on you so I need you to look after yourself. And you aren't doing that. You got weird-ass magic healing powers and you never thought about yourself.”

“You're worried about me.”

“Obviously!”

Wow. Dean really said that out loud. He looked down at his feet in response to Cas’s wide-eyed stare, all the fury drained out of him. Any more serious talks and Dean was going to need to take a year off to sleep.

“Dean.” Cas was closer now. “I worry about you, too.”

“You shouldn't.”

There were quite a few moments in life Dean could point to and say “there, that was when I fucked up.” A surprising amount of them had to do with his father, a few women he should never have followed home, and that one guy in high school whose words hurt him even years after he said them.

Cas reached out, tracing the shape of Dean’s jaw with his fingers, making Dean look up in his eyes. What Dean saw there was deep and kind and something he was not ready to accept. Maybe he would never be able to do so. He stepped away, cleared his throat, and ran away.

Yeah, that was definitely going in the fuck up pile.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam knocked on Castiel's door, hoping this trip would turn out better. When Castiel opened it, Sam caught the flash of weariness that he quickly schooled back to his usual quiet stare.

“No more questions,” Sam said. “I'm here to say goodbye.”

Castiel opened the door wider and retreated into his room. Sam took it as an invitation to follow. Castiel sat at his desk, leaving Sam to hover in the middle of the room, unsure of what he should do with his hands. The room was still plastered with paintings but a backpack sat in the middle of the floor, a black hole in the centre of a galaxy.

“Thanks for actually answering. Mercy and Dean are, well…” Sam shrugged.

“Mercy came by earlier,” Cas said. “Please take care of her. She has been very kind.”

“I will. Don't worry,” Sam said. “What about Dean?”

“No.”

It was a short word spoken fast but Sam knew better than to push any further.

“Anyway. I wanted to say that I'm glad I got to know you.”

Castiel blinked a few times, then studied Sam with narrowed eyes. After a while he said, “I'm not sure what I should say to that.”

“You don't need to say anything. Just want to clear the air before you leave.”

Castiel nodded, then stood up from his chair to stand across from Sam. “You have a kind soul. Hold on to that.”

Castiel offered his hand to shake but that wasn't enough. Sam pulled Castiel into a hug. He felt Castiel’s body ease into Sam as he returned the gesture and the soft breath he took sounded a lot like relief. Sam patted his back once, then released him, making sure to smile when Castiel stepped away. Castiel smoothed down his shirt, shoving a few last items in the backpack in an excuse to not look at Sam. Sam's smile widened when he realized he manged to catch Castiel off guard. It was nice to see. It made him look human.

“I should go,” Castiel said, grabbing the backpack before heading out the door.

Sam followed him out of the room. As soon as Castiel started down the stairs, Sam called out.

“Hey, Cas!”

Castiel turned around on the top step, a pleased grin on his face despite his tiredness. “Yes?”

“Stay safe out there.”

“You as well.” Cas was about to disappear down the steps but he paused, his back still to Sam. “I am glad I met you, too, Sam.”

He left before Sam could reply. Sam stood in the middle of the hallway, trying very hard to damper the awe in his heart every time he remembered Castiel was an angel. It was important to remember that Cas was a person, too, not just a creature who proved Sam's faith. Hopefully Sam hadn't pestered him too much.

After a few moments, Sam walked down the stairs to an empty house. Mercy had opened all the curtains and windows to try and combat the bleach smell that permeated the front room. The sun shone weakly from behind the clouds, filling the room with drab, grey light.

Sam, hidden in the shadows, looked over the front porch and into the driveway, where Castiel stood with his back to the house. Dean stood near Castiel, saying something Sam couldn't hear over the wind. Sam stepped closer to the window, confident the men wouldn't notice with how they were so wrapped up in their conversation.

It wasn't any particular moment or movement when Sam figured it out. Dean and Cas just stood there, talking, while Dean looked at Cas with that same fond look in his eyes, a little sadder now. They never acted any differently from the last few weeks but when Castiel walked away to his motorcycle and Dean watched him go, Sam had an epiphany.

Sam flattened his hand against the window and realized he didn't truly know his brother at all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Homophobic slur. It is framed as a bad thing. Dean gets hit by a pile of bi angst.

Man, maybe Dean should have just stayed in the room that claustrophobia loved.

But, no. He wasn't going to do that. He was going to do things properly this time. Cas deserved a goodbye. 

Dean didn't wait too long. When Cas emerged from the house, Dean knew the discomfort would be worth it. He did come out here in order to make Cas smile at least one more time. Dean had expected that he would have to say something first but no, Cas was just happy to see him there.

“Hey,” Dean said as soon as Cas was close enough to hear, “this it it, huh?”

“It doesn't have to be.”

Dean watched as Cas dug in his coat pocket, producing the old burner phone Dean had given him a few years before.

“Dude. You still have that?”

“It was a gift.”

Cas shrugged, the phone still in his hand. Dean stepped closer, fully in Cas’s space, and took it. It still worked. He moved into the contacts with only two names-- Mercy and Dean’s-- and updated his number. He didn't step back, letting himself stay in Cas’s presence a little longer.

“Cas,” Dean said, totally not choked up, thank you very much, “you need to get a better phone.”

“Only if you call me on it.”

“Yeah.” Dean returned the phone, letting his hand linger on Cas’s arm. He stared at the point of contact. “I can do that.”

“I have to go,” Cas said, making no move to do so.

“I know,” Dean said, continuing to stare.

They stayed silent, listening to the wind blew past them. Dean looked up and Cas smiled at him.

“This is much better than last time.”

Dean sighed. Cas didn't say it with any malice, but it still hurt.

“Just so you know, I am sorry about that,” Dean said. “Very, very, sorry.”

Cas pat Dean on the shoulder. “I know.”

It wouldn't be hard, really, to just lean in a little bit more and catch Cas’s lips. Cas looked at Dean with wide open eyes that only showed tenderness, not anger. Their hands were still on each other and they stood so close the toes of their boots touched. Everything told Dean that Cas wouldn't object if Dean moved a little closer.

It wouldn't be right. Cas had to leave. It was his decision. Dean had no right to complicate things any further by doing something like that. The reminder that Cas occasionally had wings definitely made Dean pause. Dean was just a man and he wasn't entirely sure what to call Cas. Cas had asked to be friends, nothing more. Dean figured it was best to honour that, no matter how much it hurt to take a few steps back.

Cas brushed past Dean on his way to his vehicle, face unreadable.

“Let's not say goodbye,” Cas said as he started up his motorcycle.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “how about: see you around.”

“See you around,” Cas echoed before turned off into the street.

Dean watched him as he vanished over the horizon and waited a little bit more.

Someday, everybody was going to leave him.

Dean returned to the empty house, that stupid goddamn bead curtain swinging in the breeze. God, Dean hated that thing. He intended to head back to bed and ignore the world for the rest of the day, taking a page from Mercy’s book. He didn't want to talk to anyone.

Of course, as soon as Dean made his way towards the stairs, Sam appeared wearing his most sad eyed puppy dog look he usually reserved for the most depressing of jobs. Ugh, what was it _now._

“Cas head out?” Sam asked.

“Yep.”

Dean tried to continue on his objective to go upstairs, but Sam wouldn't get out of the way.

“It's okay, you know,” Sam said.

“What are you talking about?”

“There's nothing wrong with it.”

“Seriously, what?”

“I mean, I should have noticed way sooner but I never really suspected.”

“I swear to god, Sam, if you don't get to your point soon I will--”

“You love him.”

That made Dean stop. Not just stop moving; he _stopped_. He didn't have any thoughts, any words, any sounds. His brain just didn't want to work anymore. If he had been in a movie, maybe there would have been a record scratch.

“That's what everything was about,” Sam continued. “I thought it must've been the angel stuff but no. You love Cas.”

There was that word again. Dean should respond, defend himself, deflect Sam, but he couldn't because Dean wasn't really there. Dean’s body was frozen in an uncomfortable stance in the middle of the living room while Dean’s mind looked on from above singing in panic.

“I'm sorry you've been dealing with that on your own. It okay, you know. It doesn't change anything with you and me. I'm not dad.”

Come on Dean, say something. “What.” Okay, a little flat but it was something.

“I assume that means you're bisexual, then? I mean you had feelings for Cassie, too. Wait! Is that too presumptuous. Shit, sorry. I--”

“Sam. Stop. Please stop.”

Dean made it to the bottom step before his legs gave up. He sat there, deciding that he was going to make it look like his plan all along. Betting on the look Sam gave him, Dean wasn't that convincing. Dean rest his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands, hoping that Sam would take the hint.

Sam stayed still for a long time. His footfalls echoed in the empty room as he joined Dean on the bottom step.

“Sorry,” Sam said. “That was too much and all at once."

Dean grumbled out a sound as a response, not exactly in disagreement.

“Hey, Dean?”

Oh no. Sam was using that soft earnest tone that always got Dean. Dean shifted his hand enough to look at Sam out of one eye and yeah there were the puppy dog eyes, still going strong.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Wow. Sam sounded kind of hurt. Dean didn't know why, though. It wasn't like the world looked at _his_ plush lips, _his_ wide eyes, _his_ delicate features and thought less of him. He wasn't the one who always knew he was a little different, felt about people in an unaccepted way, didn't really fit in like the others. He wasn't the one who learned how to fake it, how the preform to expectations, how to always make sure people saw the masculine side of him, the normal side, the expected side. He didn't have to hide a part of himself in the not insignificant chance that it could get him killed.

“No.”

Sam screwed up his face as a reaction, but otherwise didn't say anything. Dean stared out the window and tried not to think.

“Do you remember,” Dean said, causing Sam to jump, “that old school in Missouri? I think it was the one you decided you wanted to be an astronaut and took out all those books about the stars.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, laughter in his voice, “turns out I meant astronomer.”

“And refused to believe me when I said that.” Sam shot Dean a look but otherwise didn't interrupt. “Do you remember Tom?”

Dean sure did. It was more than ten years and he could still see him as he was then: messy brown hair and eyes that sparked like he was always laughing at a private joke. Yeah, Dean could remember him so well because he spent so long looking at that face.

“He was the one who lent us a telescope, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn't his mom say he couldn't hang out with us or something? He just kinda stopped coming around.”

Smart kid but sometimes he wasn't that observant. It did make things easier when they were kids. Dean remembered the days Sam would believe everything he said, just because he was his big brother. Man, sometimes he missed that.

“That was the story but, uh--” Dean sighed, then told the rest of his tale in a flat, unemotional, tone. “We skipped school one day. Got drunk in the motel room. I misread the signs. Went for it. And he ran out of that room faster than one of those shooting stars we saw.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anyway. Next day he finds me. Says a lot of stuff. Calls me a lot of things. Got half the school calling me a fag.”

“What? That's not okay, Dean.”

“No it's not. Dad caught wind of it when he got back. Asked me if it were true. I told him no.”

He could see his dad now, clearly uncomfortable, his hands cutting into the leather of his jacket as he crossed his arms. He looked at Dean then, appraising, trying to see if his son was telling the truth. There was something in his eyes there, something Dean had never seen before, in the split second he waited for Dean’s answer.

It was fear.

“Anyway. That's why we left that particular town. Dad just made up a hunt for your benefit.”

Dean still looked out the window, but he could feel Sam’s eyes on him as he processed Dean's story.

Sam’s next words came out as a squeak. “Dean. I-I didn't-- I never even--”

“After that I dated a couple of questionable chicks and Dad got off my case. And if any other guys popped up I just… found another girl.” Dean shrugged, doing his best not to look Sam in the eyes because if he did he wouldn't be able to stay detached and say what he needed to say. “And it mostly worked. Until--” Dean swallowed, trying to find the right words that wouldn't break him down.

“Until Cas.” Sam's offered words were quiet, like he was speaking to a frightened cat.

That stupid town. Dean couldn't even remember the name of it, just that he was resentful that Dad sent him there. He only went into the world's worst gallery to pass the time before the full moon. When this guy came over to chastise him, smelling and looking like he just walked out of Woodstock, Dean’s first thought was that he really hoped he wasn't the werewolf because it's be a shame to kill someone with such nice eyes.

“Yeah. ‘Til Cas messed all that up.”

Dean's mind floated back to Dean's body and whole Dean was filled with an indescribable exhaustion as he fought the last few words out. He put his face in his hands again and grew silent.

Sam didn't say anything else. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and stayed next to him, a silent pillar of support. It must have been weird for Sam to sit there while Dean had yet another freak out but Sam remained planted beside him on the step. Sam didn't leave him.

When Dean calmed down enough and managed to escape Sam, he sat in his room playing the conversion over and over again in his head.

_You love him._

Why did Sam use that word? That word wasn't meant for Dean. Dean didn't get that because Dean was going to go out in a blaze of glory. He couldn't do it if he had… that.

No, that was a word meant for Sam. For after Dean had saved him. Dean would have his dramatic moment while Sam would have an after.

_You love him._

No he didn't. He couldn't. Not when he had to look after Sammy. It's what Dad told him to do. It was why he was still here in this stupid house having these stupid thoughts.

 _You love him_.

_And. Most importantly?_

_Watch out for Sammy._

_That's right._


	20. Chapter 20

It rained for three days after Castiel left, adding to the dower mood in the household. Sam cleaned the house best he could, giving his hands something to do while his mind screamed at him to act.

It was time. After the rain cleared, Sam went to Mercy's bedroom to tell her it was time for he and his brother to move on. She opened the door before he had a chance to knock. Sam didn't have to say anything before she pulled him into a hug. When they parted she nodded, her eyes shining, and retreated back into her room.

The Winchesters were on the road a few hours after that, with the radio turned up loud so Dean wouldn't have to talk. They hadn't spoken much since Sam discovered Dean’s bisexuality. Dean clearly wasn't comfortable with it, or that Sam knew. Sam wished for some way to go back and time and reverse all the conditioning that made people hate themselves for caring for someone who looked the same as them. Sam knew that wasn't possible. Sam wanted to make it clear to Dean that it didn't matter who he loved. Dean was still his big brother and the person he looked up to the most. Nothing would change that.

Sam knew that if he tried to say any of that, Dean would shut him down, ignore him, and head for the closest bar. Sam hoped it would be enough to quietly support Dean, even if they never spoke about it again.

Sam tried to be sensitive to what Dean felt but he definitely wanted to throttle him when he brought up going into prison to hunt a ghost like it was the greatest idea he ever had. Sure, they got out, but now they were on the fugitive list for life. God. Dean probably thought it was cool to have the FBI on their tails.

He wasn't quite as angry, however, when Dean disappeared on a hunt for a djinn. Sam spent a frantic day following the trail, ending up in a dilapidated warehouse, carrying his brother over his shoulder back to the motel. Dean told him the next day about what the djinn did to him, about how he granted his wish that mom had lived. The fantasy world sounded like a place easy to get lost in, though Dean told him it was too fake.

Dean didn't say anything about Cas. Sam didn't ask.

The brothers followed the road, saving people along the way, and the urgent voice in the back of Sam’s head quieted down.

That was why, when the demons came for him, Sam didn't suspect a damn thing.


	21. Chapter 21

_ Watch out for Sammy. _

That was his job. His one job and he screwed it up.

Dean didn't even think about it when he found the crossroads, didn't really care what the demon said. All he really cared about was not failing Sam. The life his was living wasn't really his, anyway. It was Dad’s. And Dad told Dean to save Sam.

Dean signed his soul away without a second thought and, for the first time since his dad died, Dean felt relieved.


	22. Chapter 22

The yellow eyed demon died. The thing they hunted all Sam's life was finally gone. It was a hollow victory. Thousands of demons crawled out of Hell and onto the Earth, and it was his fault.

Dean had a year to live. That was his fault, too.

Sam and Dean crashed at Bobby’s after the big battle, helping the old hunter track demon signs and omens in the wake of their mistake. No one talked about Dean’s deal for the first few days, though they all thought about it.

Sam poured over every book in Bobby's library, digging for any clue as to how he'd save Dean. He wasn't going to let his brother die. His goddamn destiny was not going to claim the last of his family. Sam would not let that happen.

Dean sat across from Sam at Bobby's kitchen table, staring at his phone. He snapped it shut and threw it down. He left it as he stalked away, still not talking to Sam after their last big shouting match.

In what he knew to be a violation in privacy, Sam picked up Dean’s phone. Both of them periodically deleted their messages in case they had to ditch the phones on short notice but Dean had saved a few. All of the messages were by “C.” It took Sam less than a second to crack Dean’s amazing code. Most of them were short hellos or status updates, but the last few caught Sam’s eye.

 _Are you alright?_ Sent about ten minutes after Dean made his deal.

 _Did something happen?_ The time marked it around the same time the Devil's Gate opened.

 _Send me something so I know you are safe._ The last message was sent that morning.

If Dean replied to any of the messages, he had purged all evidence.

Sam rolled his eyes and cursed his brother's inability to just _talk._ He opened up the contacts menu and hit call.

***

A few days later, Sam realized he forgot to tell Bobby about his plan.

“Who the hell are you?” He heard Bobby yell, punctuated with a shotgun cock.

Sam got up so fast his chair spun. He made it to the front door before Bobby fired a warning shot-- there were a couple holes around the door frame-- and saw Castiel behind the screen.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas said, unfazed by Bobby's greeting.

Sam pushed down Bobby’s shotgun arm. “Bobby. It's alright. He's a friend. I asked him here to help.”

“Ya think ya coulda told me?” Bobby growled at Sam before yanking open the screen door. “Well, get you ass on in here.”

Cas didn't move at first, taking the time to observe Bobby.

“What,” Bobby said, slowly raising the shotgun.

“You are as colourful as described,” Cas said, walking inside and offering a handshake. “Please call me Cas.”

They shook hands and Castiel immediately walked into the library, complimenting Bobby’s collection. He took Bobby's required holy water shot without complaint and, when handing it back, pointed out a tattoo on his arm shaped like a pentagram. Bobby let out an amused snort, then joined Sam on the other side of the room.

“Weird guy,” Bobby muttered to Sam.

“He sure is,” Sam said, grinning. “You know what I think?”

“I never know what your thinking, kid.”

“We should get a drink.”

“Why?”

“We’ve been working non-stop since we got back. We should take a break.”

Bobby eyed him from under the brim of his trucker’s cap, as if he saw another head grow from Sam’s neck. “You bring a stranger into my house then tell me to leave?”

Sam continued without acknowledging Bobby's interruption. “We should just leave Dean. He's too busy sulking. Let's go!”

Sam grabbed Bobby by the arm and tugged him out the door before he could process what happened. They were halfway to the bar before Bobby started questioning Sam. That was okay. Sam was ready to deflect until Bobby got sloshed enough to insist they play pool.

Sam was going to win this round.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean couldn't sleep. Well, it wasn't like he could before, but now he heard a ticking clock every time he closed his eyes. During those few, scant moments he did sleep, he had dreams of fire, brimstone, and everyone he ever cared about staring at him with disappointed eyes.

Not that being awake was much better. His waking moments were spent with Sam trying to _talk_ about things, which led to shouting, which led to him storming upstairs to watch shadows spin on the ceiling. It looked a hell of a lot like demon smoke if he unfocused his eyes.

Sam was mad at Dean because he wouldn't say what Sam wanted. Sam was alive. That was all that mattered. He was not going to apologize for saving his brother.

The shadows danced across the ceiling, laughing at Dean as they drew closer and closer with each tick of the clock.

It was late evening by the time Dean dragged himself out of Bobby's disused guestroom. He figured he'd chance a trip downstairs. Bobby probably drank himself to sleep and Sam would be facedown in a pile of books by now, so Dean could go unnoticed.

The house was empty and quiet, which was what Dean wanted. He couldn't help but feel a little odd about it. He looked into the rooms as he passed them, finding no sign of Sam or Bobby. It looked like they had finally got up and left him. Figures.

When Dean made it to the kitchen, he stopped dead in the threshold. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes, and even looked at his surroundings to make sure he hadn't accidentally teleported during the night. No, he was still at Bobby's house and awake. At least, Dean was pretty sure he was awake. He pinched himself to be sure.

Cas stood in Bobby's kitchen, leaning over the sink, watching the last rays of the sunset dissolve into darkness. Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, Cas appeared as if he always been there. Cas showed up out of nowhere and it felt like he had never left at all.

Dean wanted to come up with something snappy to say, something to cover the sound of his beating heart, but he was just too damn tired to think of anything at all.

Cas turned around and locked eyes with Dean. Okay, not a hallucination then.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, his low voice rumbling through the quiet house.

Dean remained in between the kitchen and the library, still not entirely sure what was happening. “When did you… how did you?”

“This morning and on my motorcycle.” Cas leaned back onto the kitchen counter. “Sam called me.”

“Right. 'Course he did.” Dean took a few tentative steps into the kitchen. “How you been?”

Cas squinted at Dean, not moving from his spot. “I've been around. Looking for signs, omens. There has been quite a lot lately.”

Dean reached the kitchen table, a few feet away from Cas. “Yeah. Um… it's been an eventful time.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet.

“Sam filled me in.”

Dean's head snapped up. “Oh. Right. So how much did he…” Dean’s question died off in response to the sorrow that filled Cas’s eyes. He was kind of glad it was dark in the kitchen. He wasn't sure he wanted to see the whole picture Cas made.

“All of it.”

“Oh,” Dean said, not able to craft a better response.

He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He set it on the counter, not even bothering to open it. Cas watched from the corner of his eye as Dean stood beside him, still in the same spot as before. Dean rest his elbows on the counter, rubbing his hands over his face. Condensation formed on the beer bottle, wrinkling the label as water dripped down and Dean stared at it, unable to find a reason to open it.

“One year,” Cas said, as if he were commenting on a boring news cast.

“Yep,” Dean replied in the same tone, “give or take a week.”

Cas hung his head and closed his eyes. “That's… short.”

“Really? 'Cause it's already more than I should have.”

“Dean.”

“What?” Dean took a few steps back, so he could see all of Cas. “You gonna yell at me too?”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No!” Dean yelled, already halfway out the kitchen. “Yes.” He turned back around, stopping only a short distance from Cas, who stood still all the while. “I don't know.”

Cas cupped Dean's face in his hand. Dean wasn't sure if that was what he wanted either but he leaned into it, taking what warmth Cas could offer.

“I don't know,” Dean repeated softly into Cas’s palm.

“I wish you wouldn't try to take on everything by yourself.”

Dean scoffed, then pulled back from Cas far enough to make sure they wouldn't touch. “That’s rich, coming from Mr. I-must-save-the-world-but-won’t-say-anything-else.”

Cas raised his arms, letting them hit the counter on the way down. “I suppose I also have lessons to learn.”

“You know what? You're right. You and your goddamn need to save everyone. Like, curing fucking heart disease and cancer but not holding on to any of that power yourself. Getting shot for me. Yeah. I looked it up. Turns out old Bev had firearms training. God! Don't you even care about yourself? Do you even wanna live?” Once he got started he couldn't stop. He moved in closer with each word. “Like, did your dad program you to look after us little humans, hmm? Do you do everything you can to achieve that impossible goal?”

“Dean?”

Dean was up close now. He pushed right up into Cas’s face, boxing him into his space against the counter. Cas made no move to free himself.

“Because you gotta watch out for your brother. Gotta keep him safe. Keep him on the right path.” Dean barely stopped for breath between each sentence now, his words tumbling out faster than he could think. “Then your dad’s all 'you gotta kill him’ but you can't do that. You gotta save 'im. 'Cause that’s what you do. Who cares about your life? Saving others. That's your job. And if you go out doing it, that fine. That's how these things go, right?”

Dean gasped for breath and Cas reached out, tangling a hand in Dean’s hair. “Dean. Who are you really talking about?”

It was the softness in Cas’s voice, the lack of anger, the real concern in his eyes that broke Dean. Dean tried to seek out Cas but he couldn't see him through the watery glaze.

“I don't want to die,” Dean whispered before burying his face in Cas’s neck.

“Neither do I,” Cas muttered into Dean’s ear, wrapping his arms around Dean’s body and holding him close.

Cas spoke those words over and over, the same ones he had said the night he was drunk. Cas held him, whispering softly as he rubbed Dean’s back.  Dean shamelessly pressed closer, hoping Cas’s light and strength would somehow seep into him. Once Dean calmed down enough he pulled back, hands still resting on Cas’s shoulders.

Cas smiled at him. “Are you alright?”

“No.”

Cas nodded as if he knew he should have never asked such a stupid question in the first place.

“I wish,” Cas said, trailing a hand up Dean’s chest to hold his chin, “that there was some way you could just understand how much value your life holds.” Cas sighed, running his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip. “You can be a very difficult man to love.”

“I can _what?_ ”

Cas ignored Dean's interruption, tearing his gaze away from Dean’s lips and into his eyes. The heat in them nearly scorched Dean. “Perhaps it's best I show you.”

Grabbing the back of Dean's head, Cas brought them so close together there was only a breath a space between them. Cas stopped there, looking down at Dean’s lips them up to Dean’s eyes, asking for permission. Dean nodded, just the slightest incline of his head, and Cas growled, catching Dean’s lips with his own.

Dean gave himself to Cas, allowing him to spin them around until Dean’s lower back was pressed into the counter. He lifted his arms as Cas trailed his hands down Dean’s sides. Dean opened his mouth and let Cas claim him, moaning in appreciation with each move and every touch.

While Dean couldn't really say what coming home felt like, he had a inkling it was something like this. Their bodies remembered each other, slotting together perfectly when Cas raised Dean onto the counter so he could fit in between Dean’s legs. The strength in Cas’s body definitely put some interesting thoughts into Dean’s head. He’d almost forgotten how good Cas was at throwing him around. Cas moved in just the right way, the lines of their bodies filling the empty spaces between them.

Dean had no idea how long they stayed like that, just that he felt disappointed when Cas pulled away, breaths ragged. He didn't go far. Cas touched his forehead against Dean’s and closed his eyes. They breathed together, calmness and safety blanketing Dean with every second.

“That was,” Cas said, still a little breathless, “much better in real life than my imagination.”

“Oh? I'm in your imagination am I?"

Cas hummed. “I always figured our reunion would lead to me sweeping you off your feet.”

Dean laughed, tracing the shape of Cas’s muscled bicep with his fingers. “We really should have started with that.”

“Agreed.” Cas kissed Dean again, his hand squeezing Dean’s thigh. “Please tell me there is an empty bedroom in this house.”

By some miracle, they made it upstairs. Cas wasted no time stripping Dean down, who was naked before he even hit the sheets. Cas covered Dean with frustratingly still-clothed body, kissing him so deeply Dean couldn't make his hands cooperate to take off Cas’s shirt. Dean let Cas take control, not that his body would let him do anything else, and lost himself in the sensations he finally, _finally,_ allowed Cas to give him.

The wicked glint in Cas’s eyes as he pinned Dean’s hands above his head was enough on its own to turn Dean into a whimpering mess. Then Cas started to trail downward, lavishing attention on every inch on Dean’s skin. By the time Cas’s face made it between Dean’s legs, Dean was already halfway to the finish line.

Dean wasn't ready for that yet, not when there was so much more he wanted to do. Dean’s arms were free now, so he grabbed Cas’s shoulders and dragged him back up until he was close enough for a kiss. Cas laughed, allowing himself to be moved, and helped Dean’s clumsy fingers take off Cas's clothes.

Dean was rewarded with miles of Cas’s skin. He ran his hands over the tattoos, discovering Cas all over again. He kissed the scars he could reach: the ones on his shoulders and in the crook of his arms, accepting all parts of Cas, good or not. Cas returned the favour, touching Dean’s skin with a reverence that only an angel could show.

They teased each other, discovering the new parts of each other with just as much enthusiasm as they did the old, until it became too much to bear. Cas lay on top of Dean, pressing their bodies together until there was no way to tell who started where, and squeezed his hand between them. Neither could control the sounds that escaped their mouths. They had waited so long, needed each other too much, had been apart for too long. They cried out when they finished, one before the other but they didn't know who, and collapsed in one pile on sweat-soaked sheets.

Cas placed his hands on each side of Dean's face, his eyes nearly glowing. Dean watched him, finding it hard to believe that they were here, like this, wrapped up in each other with out any hint of embarrassment. The awe, the reverence, in Cas's eyes should had made Dean look away, but instead he found himself accepting it. He crossed his arms across Cas's back, bringing their bodies closer together, and reflected Cas's stare. Dean took a deep breath, releasing it all at one, and smiled.


	24. Chapter 24

Dean almost convinced himself he dreamed the whole thing until he rolled over in the morning and saw Cas curled up on the other side of the bed, sheets barely covering his modesty. That is, if Cas had any modesty to cover after Dean’s rather thorough investigation of him last night. Dean smiled and touched Cas’s tattooed wings, enjoying the feel of Cas's skin beneath his hands.

Cas stirred and rolled over to face Dean, yawning wide. “Morning.”

“Hey.” Dean splayed his hand over Cas’s chest, grinning as he watched Cas fight to keep his eyes open. “I'm going to go downstairs. You can stay here.” He kissed Cas’s stubble-rough cheek. “I just wanted to be here when you woke up.”

Cas caught Dean's lips before he could leave, not that Dean tried hard to get away.

“Mmm, still early,” Cas muttered before flipping Dean onto his back.

Cas was damn good at using his hands and mouth, which he demonstrated aptly on Dean. He wasn't allowed to go until Cas was done with him, leaving him with a need to shower and shaky legs. Dean definitely didn't mind. When Dean left the room he looked back at Cas, already back asleep on his stomach in the middle of the bed, arms hugging Dean’s pillow. Dean had to smile.

Sam sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of aspirin beside his coffee mug. Sam took one look at Dean when he entered the room and said, “you _owe_ me.”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Dean said, taking his time to fill his coffee mug.

“Bullshit. You got the face.” Sam winced when Dean’s mug clunked against the table as he sat down. “Admit it. I am the best wingman you ever had.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam over his mug. Man, he really wanted to give Sam a hard time but… “Maybe one.”

Sam rolled his eyes in a way only a little brother could and produced a sizable stack of cash from his jeans pocket. “Or two.”

“Dude. Where did you get that?”

“Bobby's pretty good at pool.” Sam grinned. “But I'm better.”

“Only 'cause you learned it from me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Sam flipped through the stack with his thumb, breathing deeply. “Smells like avocado.”

“What? You are not spending our money on _vegetables_.”

“It’s a fruit. And you owe me three.”

“Wait we’re at three now? I said one!’

“It’ll be three once I save your ass.”

“Ugh. What is with the racket?” Bobby trudged into the room, eyes half open as he sought out the coffee pot.

“Morning, Bobby,” Dean said.

“Glad to see you with us,” Bobby said, taking a long, satisfied sip from his cup of tar. He leaned back against the counter and studied Dean for a while, seeming like he was about to say something else before shutting his mouth.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Bobby said too quickly. He didn't continue until Dean stared him down. “Just, ah, noticed that Cas guy has made himself pretty comfortable.” Bobby took a sip of coffee. “In your room.”

Dean forced himself to look at Bobby. He didn't cower or shy away from the words or let Bobby's discomfort sway him. “What of it?”

Bobby studied Dean for a few moments, then nodded, finding what he was looking for. “Nothing. Just wanted to make sure. Good for you two.” He joined them at the table and helped himself to Sam’s aspirin. “All I'm saying is you’re washing your sheets from now on.”

“You don't even wash your own sheets.”

“Oh yeah,” Bobby said, smiling over the lip of his cup.

Dean smiled back. He was surprised about how calm he felt at Bobby’s discovery. Had the conversation happened a few weeks ago, Dean was certain he would have completely shut down. The last few months had given Dean perspective. Things like this didn’t really matter as much to him, not when he had so little time left.

It wasn't just about his remaining time, however. The past few months had taught Dean a few things. Mercy accepted Dean's inner conflict with an understanding that could only be brought on by experience. Sam, after his initial shock, had supported Dean, never once judging him for what he felt. Bobby looked at Dean with confusion but just smiled at him after thinking about it. Dean had to wonder what Bobby found, the secret of it twinkling behind his eyes like he was amused he knew something Dean didn't. Cas never had issues with Dean's preferences. In fact, Dean would bet it hadn't occurred to Cas to even think it was strange. That quiet acceptance made Dean bold, exploring a part of himself he never thought he could accept. Cas allowed Dean into his life, into his bed, and they learned the shape of each other with great enthusiasm. Not just once. Twice.

Dean had leaned a few things from these people. One: his little family was a bit bigger than he thought. Two: family wasn't only established through blood. Three: if his family couldn't accept the parts of him that made him Dean then they were never really his family at all.

Dean was bisexual. That was okay.

“Alright!” Sam said, “I think it's time to change topics. About how I kicked your ass last night.”

Bobby scoffed. “Only 'cause I let you, kid.”

The two continued to argue, growing more animated by the second. Dean’s attention was drawn to the door, where Cas stood in yesterday's clothes, watching the scene at the table. He hovered in the threshold, one hand across his body as he half turned away.

Sam noticed Dean's distraction first. He turned to smile at Cas. Bobby twisted around in his chair once he noticed Sam’s lack of a retort.

“What are you standing there for?” Bobby said, loud enough to make Sam reach for the aspirin again. “Get your ass in here.”

Cas stepped into the room carefully and sat in the last empty chair beside Dean. Dean slid his mug towards Cas, who took it with a grateful nod.

“What? No way. _I’m_ the reason we got that last guy. You were too far gone by then.” Sam slammed his fist on the table, launching right back into their argument.

Dean leaned back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle before him. Cas sat beside him, looking amused, if a little concerned. Dean placed a hand on Cas’s knee, causing Cas to look up. Dean used his free hand to make a gesture like 'see what I put up with,’ and Cas’s smile widened. Cas covered Dean's hand with his own, lacing their fingers together, and Dean marvelled at how right it felt when, together, they filled the empty spaces in between the lines of their fingers. Dean felt comfortable and content.

It was funny, really, that it wasn't until he was dying that Dean could finally see all the reasons he had to keep living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I did it!
> 
> I was originally going to end this here, but when I started to edit this series I realized I have at least one more story to tell. I've made some decent progress but it will be a bit until I'm ready to share it. Keep an eye on this space for "The Lines." Hopefully I'll be done in a semi-reasonable amount of time. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, commenting, kudo-ing and giving me your support. It seriously blows my mind that people are reading something I made-- maybe even enjoying it.
> 
> Thank you again! I hope to see you next time. :)


End file.
